


as the night sky takes no credit for the moon

by dreamer_of_dreams



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dead Laura Hale, Demisexual Stiles Stilinski, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Kid Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Mechanic Derek Hale, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, POV Stiles, Single Parent Derek Hale, Teacher Stiles Stilinski, gifted AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:47:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamer_of_dreams/pseuds/dreamer_of_dreams
Summary: Derek is a single father of a gifted 7 year old child. He tries to provide for her and give her a normal life under his custody with the help of his neighbour and friend, Stiles. But when Derek is legally challenged in a custody battle, the facade of normalcy crumbles and he is forced to reveal his painful past and carefully kept secrets. And Stiles... well, Stiles may need to confront his own fears and feelings for Derek Hale too.This is based on the film, Gifted. Basically a rip-off with a romantic addition. Sssshhh... I just wanted to write a Dad Derek fic where nothing is supernatural and everybody gets a happy ending eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

_"You shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you_  
_into everything you touch. You are not responsible._  
_You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit_  
_for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,_  
_and in that way, be known."_ \- Naomi Shihab Nye

 

Stiles grips the window ledge in his living room as he tiptoes, trying to stand taller so he can look further into the Hale house. He knows the routine by heart. It’s breakfast time. Mary would have cereals with Derek and play with Fred, her one-eyed cat, as Derek washes the dishes and cleans the house before he begins the lesson for the day. Usually, that is the case. Today though, she has to go to school. For the first time in her life, she will be placed in a class of 7 year olds, who despite being her age, have no other similarities to her. Stiles hates it. Mary’s too smart for conventional schooling. He has pointed it out one too many times to Derek, but who is Stiles to afford a say in Mary’s life? Just the neighbour who occasionally babysits her.

That doesn’t stop him though. He stalks out of the house the minute he sees Derek gently push a stubborn, sulking Mary towards the school bus that awaits at his front door. Stiles can see from Mary’s dragging feet and slouching shoulders that she hates it just as much as Stiles does. As he approaches Derek, the bus moves, so he turns to wave at Mary who sits in the bus sullenly. Derek sees Stiles standing a few feet away and immediately rushes into his house so as to avoid the nagging. But with Stiles… there’s just no stopping Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles hurries after him. “Derek! I know you can hear me. Wait.”

Just as Derek closes the front door on his face and clicks the lock into place, Stiles pulls out the spare key that Derek had given him for security reasons and unlocks the door. He makes his way in, bee lining to the kitchen where Derek is solemnly washing dishes, ignoring his entrance.

"Do I need to remind you that this is private property?" he says, with his back to Stiles.

"Yeah? Call the cops on me for trespassing, why don't you? Wait, you can't. Cause do I need to remind you that the Sheriff is my dad?"

"Pretty sure he'd still kick you out on my behalf."

"Yeah? You really think he'll pick you over his son? His own flesh and blood--"

"Yup," Derek accentuates with a pop at the end.

Stiles rambles in irritation, "Okay, maybe he will, but whatever. That's too much trouble for any of us and you won't go through with it anyway, big guy, cause you hate having to make calls and--" 

"Stiles," Derek raises his voice to cut him off.

"What?!" Stiles replies even more loudly. 

“That wasn’t what I gave you the key for,” Derek sighs. 

“Too bad. You weren’t being a good host so I had to be a rude guest.”

“I have half a mind to take back the key from you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Stiles says as he stabs Derek on his arm to force eye contact. “Do you really think this is a good idea? I still don’t think this is.”

“What? The key? Definitely not--"

"No, dumbass. The school!"  
  
"Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Oh shut up, Derek. You know what. You know exactly what.”

Derek dries the mug he had just washed with a cloth and hangs it up on a hook.

“What-- Say something!” Stiles gestures wildly with his hands in frustration.

“You _just_ told me to shut up. Make up your mind, Stiles.”

“Oh my GOOOD!” Stiles drags his hands roughly against his face. “You're so infuriating! Derek, do you know what you’re doing to Mary? She’s going to hate school so bloody much, no joke—“

“So do other kids. Nobody goes to school because they love it per se,” Derek says with his hands across his chest.

“No. Cause they go to school to learn. Cause they must, it’s necessary for other kids. Not for Mary. She’s too smart for it. Don’t act dumb with me. You know this.”

“Of course I know it.”

“Not the way I know it, obviously. I teach in that school, Derek. The kids can't compete—why mention the kids? Even the teachers don’t stand a chance with Mary!”

Derek huffs out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “It’s necessary for her. She needs to make friends—“

“She has fri—“

“No, she doesn’t. She doesn’t. _You_ are not her friend. _I_ am not her friend. Like you said, you teach kids older than her. I repair cars. We’re both in our thirties. We _cannot_ be her social circle. She needs a sense of normalcy—“

“Ugh… overrated,” Stiles interrupts and Derek glares at him.

“Someone her own age. Someone who gets excited about lego sets and—“

“I get… excited about lego sets,” Stiles finishes lamely.

Derek rolls his eyes so hard that Stiles thinks he might have caught a glimpse of another dimension of the universe where Stiles isn't his annoying, overly attached neighbour.

“Okay, alright. But if something happens to her…” Stiles points his finger somewhere in between Derek’s eyes, making him cross-eyed for a second before he goes back to glaring at Stiles angrily, “if anything at all happens, and they take her away from here, I swear to God I’m coming after you. I will kill you. To death. With my own bare hands,” Stiles gestures his hands as though he was strangling an imaginary Derek. “You’ve been warned.”

Derek rolls his eyes again and Stiles thinks he has made his point clear.

“Good morning, Fred,” Stiles calls out with a fake cheeriness to the cat which stares unblinkingly with its one good eye from the couch at their interaction before Stiles storms out of the house as an emphasis of his exasperation.

For an intelligent guy, Derek can be really dense at times. As much as Stiles wants to stand there and fight him on his life choices, he can’t afford to be the sort of teacher who shows up late to class on the very first day.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles likes to think of himself as a second guardian to Mary. He is, after all, the one who first figured out that she was a genius. Derek had been clueless to her gift despite being her primary homeschool tutor. It makes no sense to Stiles that Derek didn’t catch it earlier, but what can he say? Derek is not always sensitive to his environment.

Ever since Derek moved next door to Stiles’ humble abode with a 3 year old child in his arm, looking overwhelmed and without the basic humanly capacity to smile, the Stilinskis had wordlessly vowed to be the best neighbours that the Hales could ever ask for. Why? Because it’s a small town. Because Noah Stilinski is the sheriff. Because his son finds the broody, mysterious neighbour so bloody hot that he wonders if he is secretly a Calvin Klein model. And because Mary is the cutest, wittiest, funniest child Stiles has ever had the honour of knowing. And he knows a lot of kids.

On Halloween, as soon as she turned 4 and could chatter non-stop, she had bugged Derek to buy her a Yoda costume. And she had knocked on Stiles’ door with a way too big a mask, green and wrinkly, on her face, looking like it was about to fall, a cream-coloured bath robe –the bottom of it looked like it was cut haphazardly with scissors, the treads falling apart-  that was secured with a brown string on her waist and Stiles knew that she was a girl after his own heart.

“Master Yoda!” Stiles shrieked before lowering his voice to sound gruff like the Batman he was pretending to be. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He also pretended that Derek in his casual black Henley and jeans didn’t just make him blush under his Batman mask.

“Give me treats, you must,” she said, her voice warped from beneath the costume.

Scott, dressed as Wolverine because he absolutely refused to be Alfred the Butler or Robin to Stiles’ Batman, that murderer of dreams, Scott, bends down to her height to let her take chocolates from his pumpkin shaped bucket.

 She looked enthralled by Scott’s fake side burns and adamantium claws as she mumbles, “Whoooaaa... What are you?”

“Wolverine,” Scott said.

“Der, can I be Woolrine next Halloween?” she asked reverently.

Stiles butted in, wanting both their attention to himself, “Don’t you want to be Batman? Batman’s better.”

“Everybody is Batman. It’s not cool anymore,” she answered dismissively as she pulled her mask into place.

Scott laughed and gave her extra Snickers for that, that traitor.

“What do you say, Mary?” Derek asked.

“Yoda!” she cried.

 Derek rolled his eyes in a way that is so not-parent-like in Stiles’ book and repeated, “If you’re Yoda, you’d be wise enough to know what to say when people give you treats.”

“I give Fred treats all the time. He never says a thing to me.”

“Fred doesn’t force me to call him Yoda all day or drag me to knock on people’s doors either.”

“Who’s Fred, Yoda?” Stiles asked, wanting to know more about this seemingly sassy, attractive, broody, single father.

“Our cat,” Mary answered.

“ _Your_ cat,” Derek replied.

“Fine, _my_ cat. I found him. Der Bear didn’t want him.”

“Der Bear?” Stiles looked up with an eyebrow raised playfully.

Derek exhaled through his nose, almost embarrassed.

“Go on, say thank you,” Derek said with a hand on Mary’s head.

“Thank you, Batman. Thank you, Wo…What’s his name again?” she asked, looking up at Derek, her small hand against the mask.

“Wolverine,” Scott, Stiles and Derek answered at the same time.

“Wol..verine, wolvine… wolverine,” she muttered as they walked down the street.  

Since then, Stiles has made an active effort to be a part of Mary’s life, as a friend. As her father’s friend. Eventually, Derek got closer to him and Stiles couldn’t afford crushing on the guy, or waxing poetry about his sharp jaws and cute butt to Scott without making things awkward. So, he has resigned to be Derek’s best friend instead. He knew that he was Derek’s best friend because Stiles and his father are the only people Derek ever allowed in his house, with his child there.

Once, they were drinking on the porch late at night as Mary slept and Stiles had asked, “Where’s your… hmmm... wife?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Sorry. I meant… Mary’s mum?”

“She passed away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Derek muttered as he took a long sip of the beer, letting the silence grow.

“During child birth?”

“No. When Mary just turned three.”

“That’s why you moved here?”

“Yeah.”

“Where were you before?”

“Stiles…” Derek sighed.

He didn’t know so much about Derek. But he did know Derek enough to hear his unspoken words.

“Okay,” Stiles said and he never asked again.

Instead, Stiles came up with a plan. When Mary started asking for Stiles a lot, he offered to take her in every Friday evening after he’s done with school, and to take care of her at his place till Saturday evening.  
  
Friday nights are for Derek to maintain his sanity as he raises a child. Friday nights, Derek sits in a bar and drinks himself to half a blackout. Sometimes, he doesn’t come home. Sometimes, he brings women home. But they leave first thing in the morning. Mary doesn’t notice anything. Stiles does, but he tells himself that any good friend would be glad for Derek. When you ignore the selfish feeling within that twinges with jealousy long enough, it eventually settles into something like a dull, mundane nuisance. Like a fly buzzing by. He doesn’t make any comments about the ladies to Derek. It’s none of his business.  
  
It was on one of such unremarkable Saturday mornings two years ago that Stiles and his dad had witnessed the most remarkable thing. Stiles prepared breakfast as he usually does when his dad is home on a day off – he would never let his dad into the kitchen; the Sheriff attempts to sneak in a dozen bacon strips into his diet whenever he could. The Sheriff, grumbling about vege burger, watched Who Wants to be a Millionaire on TV while Mary sculpted her play dough into a fat cylinder that tapered on both ends.

“Pops, see. My snake. Python. I’ll be python, you be goat.” Mary said as she climbed into the Sheriff’s lap to catch his attention.

The Sheriff was too engrossed in making air gestures, calculating a question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

“Pooooops!” she shrieked.

“One minute, baby,” Sheriff answered still deep in thoughts.

“POPS!” she screamed louder

“What’s going on here? You had one job, dad,” Stiles asked, head through the doorway.

“Jesus! This--this question… Just trying to solve it. You’re a teacher. Solve it. What’s the minimum number of six packs one would need to buy in order to put 99 bottles of beer on the wall? 15, 17, 19 or 21?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I teach English.”

“17! 17!” Mary shouted. “Now you be goat!”

Both the Sheriff and Stiles looked at her and at each other and back at her and the lady on the TV answered, “I’m gonna go with C. 19?”

They heard the buzzer go off. “Wrong! The answer is B. 17.”

“Did she just…?” Stiles looked at the Sheriff, puzzled.

“Maybe it’s a lucky guess?” his father shrugged.

Stiles put down the tomatoes he was holding on the coffee table and asked Mary, “How did you know the answer?”

“I count,” she said, looking at Stiles like an idiot.

“What’s 5 times 5 then?” Stiles asked.

“25. Now plaaay!” she whined, annoyed and almost about to throw a tantrum.

“What’s 13 multiplied by 15?”

Mary thought for a while pensively while Stiles and the Sheriff glanced at each other with a certain level of excitement and trepidation. When she looked lost, he scoffed in a friendly manner to hide the slight disappointment.

“It’s okay, love. You know a lot already,” Stiles stood up, patting her head.

“If I answer your questions, will you play? Pops is boring.”

“Hey—“ the Sheriff started and Mary giggled.

“What is it? The answer?”

“195.”

Stiles grabbed his phone from the counter and checked it with a calculator before randomly typing in numbers.

“27 multiplied by 32?”

She chewed on her lips as she pulled at the play dough mindlessly, “Eight hundred…. Sixty… four?”

“Is she right?” the Sheriff asked.

Stiles stared eyes wide in surprise while Mary rubbed the play dough between her palms, turning the python into a long stringy snake.

“Yes,” Stiles answered, breathless. "Yes. She's right."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was having lunch with his colleagues after six periods of lessons back to back, lamenting that Mondays are hell when he got the call.

“Hello? Derek?”

“Stiles. The class teacher called.”

“What—“ he swallows the bite of chicken sandwich in his mouth.

“Mary shouted at the principal or something. They asked me to come over. I’m on my way. Can you handle her while I get there?”

“Sure, sure. You know what class she’s in?”

“No. The teacher said her name was Erica something.”

“Reyes. Erica Reyes. I’ll go there now.”

“Thanks, Stiles. Really sorry to bother you.”

“It’s fine. We have time for I-told-you-so’s later,” Stiles says before hanging up.

Stiles stalks down the hallway to look for Ms Reyes’ homeroom. Based on the online schedule, it’s on the second floor. He’s usually on the fifth floor, teaching older kids. So, he rushes down the stairs, two at a time.

He knocks on the door as Reyes teaches basic addition to a room full of 7th graders. He looks through the window and does not see Mary anywhere.

“Sorry, Ms Reyes, can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

Erica nods before assigning the students to try 3+6 on their small chalkboards. They pull out their fingers and count loudly as Erica steps out.

“Yes, Mr Stilinski?”

“We’re out of class. We can skip the formalities.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“Can I know what happened with Mary? And where she is?”

“She’s… Wait, why are you asking?”

“I am a friend of her … father. We’re neighbours actually. He’s on his way. Said you called him?”

“Mr Hale?”

Stiles nods.

“Yes, I just did. Mary’s waiting at the reception area. She had a bit of a… blowout in class. She was… I mean, she was first challenging me on Math questions. I think… I don’t know if you know this but…” she shakes her head. “I’ll talk to Mr Hale about it. Anyway, Ms Morrell came into the class to greet the first graders on the first day of school as the principal. Mary asked her, ‘are you the boss?’ When Ms Morell corrected that she was a principal, Mary shouted, ‘Same difference. Pick up your phone and call Derek to pick me up right now.’ She was really loud, the kid next to her started crying. You know how this works with younger kids. One cries and the rest follow. The principal called her out of class and told me to speak to her father when he arrives.”

“Can I go see Mary? She’ll calm down with me there.”

She looks a little conflicted but says, “Sure. But only the father is allowed to bring her home. School po--”

“School policy. I know. Thanks,” Stiles says before walking over to the reception area.

He sees Mary with her notebook, doodling pictures of Fred.

“Hey. Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Stiles,” she yells as she jumps off the chair and runs to him.

“Sssshhh… we can’t talk that loudly in here, Mary.”

“Sorry,” she says, smothering her face against his hip, where she’s hugging him with a strong grip. “I want to go home.”

“We can’t yet.”

“Why not?”

“We’re waiting for Derek to show up and speak to your teacher.”

She wears a look of extreme distress as she yelps, “No!”

“Mary, remember what I said?” He kneels down as he puts a hand up to gesture at the disgruntled receptionist apologetically. “You cannot shout in schools. You must talk softly.”

“I don’t want Der to come. Can’t you just bring me home?”

“I can’t. He has to come.”

“He’s going to be disappointed in me. I promised I’ll be good,” she mumbles softly, scuffling her feet.

“Well, why don’t you tell me what happened and I help you out with Derek?”

“She was asking stupid questions, Stiles. Everyone knows 3 plus 3 is 6.”

“No, Mary. Not everyone. Didn’t Derek tell you this?”

She shrugs, “I hate it here. They’re all idiots.”

Stiles opens his mouth to try and correct her, though he does not know what he can possibly say. Derek told him not to use the word “smart” to describe her. Or “extraordinary”. Derek seems to be of the opinion that pointing out her intelligence would make her an outsider, socially inept and intolerant. But it is what it is. This school isn’t the place for her. And the kids are not idiots. She is just… beyond her age. He gets a call from Derek to save him from a response.

Derek walks into the reception area as Stiles directs him through the phone on how to get there. He was called in with Mary to speak to the principal, most probably to warn that such behaviours will not be excused next time, as Stiles waits outside. He wishes he could go in too but he’ll have to explain too much to his principal. Most people presume that neighbours are distant beings who occasionally say hi or let a child play on their front porch. Not neighbours like Stiles and his dad, who are almost just as invested in Mary as Derek is.

When Derek steps out, he looks tired.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah. Thanks, Stiles. We gotta go get your bag from the class,” he says, glancing at Mary.

“I… I don’t know where.”

“I do,” Stiles says, ruffling her hair.

Stiles leads them to Erica’s homeroom and when Derek knocks on the door, looking like he would rather be anywhere than there, Erica instructs the teaching assistant to look after the kids and steps out with Mary’s bag.

“Mr Hale, I wanted to talk to you about—“

“I know, Ms…?” gently pushing Mary to go stand with Stiles.

“Reyes. You can call me Erica,” she holds out her hand.

He shakes her hand, “Derek. I just spoke to the principal? So yeah, I’ll make sure this never happens again.”

 “No, no. That’s not what I wanted to—I just—do you realise that your child is gifted?”

Derek immediately starts shaking his head, saying, “No, not gifted—“

“She is. You don’t know. She solved so many hard questions--”

He still denies her by saying, “She’s a little ahead of her time due to homeschooling is all.”

“No,” Erica butts in resolutely. “Mr Hale—“

“Call me Derek please—“

“Okay, Derek. I asked her to multiply three digit numbers. Even we adults can’t multiply such big numbers in our heads--”

“Like I said, a little ahead of the other kids. Thank you, Erica,” he says with both eyebrows raised to signal the end of the conversation, “for paying attention to my kid. I’ll just take her home now and when she comes back tomorrow, she will be more prepared for classes.”

Derek readjusts the strap on the bag as he reaches out a hand towards Mary. She grabs it, walks away distressed while still looking at Stiles.

He thinks, _what the hell? I’m done with classes. I’ll just go home and mediate this._

Yes, he’s that kind of teacher.

*****

As soon as he reaches home, he knocks on Derek’s door. Derek opens it with a roll of his eyes. Of course, he does, that little shit. He walks in to find Mary on the couch, with Fred on her lap, looking annoyed.

She continues her rant, merely stopping to wave at Stiles, “…she asked me what’s 126 multiplied by 57. She thought I couldn’t answer so--”

“Hundred what multiplied by 57?” Stiles asks, for his own knowledge.

“126 multiplied by 57. The answer is—“

“No, don’t. I wanna figure that out,” Stiles says, mentally drawing the calculation out.

“It doesn’t matter—“ Derek starts, to which Stiles immediately interrupts with a loud Sssshhh that earns him another eye roll.

Mary laughs a little as she watches Stiles struggle. Derek waits with his arms crossed before getting impatient and sighing every so often.

“What is the answer?” Stiles asks Mary, feeling dumb.

“7 182,” Derek and Mary answer in unison.

“Wait, what?” Stiles points at Derek, but the look is lost on him.

“And then I told her the square root just in case she doubted me again,” replies Mary with one raised eyebrow and a smirk.

How did she learn to look just as smug as Derek does when he gets Stiles to shut up? It should be annoying. Not endearing. Not at all.

“What’s the square root? Wait—you don’t answer,” he tells Mary. “You answer,” he looks at Derek.

Derek rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen to begin making lunch. Stiles follows after him as Mary whispers in Fred’s ear.

“Derek, what’s the answer?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Do you know?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowing.

Derek huffs, “84.747 after rounding up to three digits.”

Stiles throws his head back and gestures his hands wildly, mouthing “What the fuck?” so Mary can’t hear it from the other room.

Derek sighs, “What do you want, Stiles?”

“That explains,” Stiles exclaims, mouth open wide, looking absolutely ridiculous.  

“What explains?”

“You keep denying that Mary is a genius. That’s because _you’re_ a genius.”

“I’m not. Neither is she.”

“Yes, you are. Why are you--”

Derek shakes his head vehemently, “Trachtenberg. It’s Trachtenberg method.”

“What?” Stiles asks, eyes big and confused.

“Jakow Trachtenberg? He was a Jewish mathematician, incarcerated in a concentration camp. He came up with a system to do mental calculations, easy ways to solve complex problems. She’s using the Trachtenberg method. It went out of vogue when we developed calculators.”

“But still… she’s only 7, Derek. That’s a lot for a—“

“And I was 8 when I solved the problems. Do I look gifted to you?” Derek gestures at his grease smeared clothes; he must have been working on a car right as he got the call.

“Derek—“

“It’s not extraordinary, Stiles. It’s just not taught in a traditional school setting. I taught her, so she’s a little different. You really ought to stop thinking she’s a genius or she’s gifted. She’s a child. Stop making her feel like she doesn’t belong with the other kids.”

“She doesn’t though—“

“Not yet, but she will.”

Stiles sighs, knowing better than to clash with Derek on how he raises Mary.

"I didn't know you could do that math thing. When I came to you about Mary years ago, you acted like you didn't notice at all. You're the one who taught her," Stiles points at him accusingly.

Derek lurches forward as though he'd bite the finger and Stiles pulls back with a lurch.

"Stop pointing. She's gonna pick that up from you. It's impolite," Derek says but his smirk softens the statement.

"Stop lying to me then. She'll pick that up too. That's worse," he sulks.

"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you I knew. You looked like you discovered a miracle. I played along."

"Cause it was! It's black magic, the way your minds work."

"It's just Trachtenberg. He helps me win bets and drinks on Friday nights. Sometimes women too," Derek says with a cheeky wink.

 Stiles' mouth goes dry at the sight. Just then, Mary walks into the room with Fred following her and sits on the kitchen chair, staring at Derek as he purposely ignores her.

“When would you stop being angry with me?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Derek, come on. I said I’m sorry.”

“But you don’t mean it.”

“I dooooo,” Mary whines.

“If you mean what you say, you would have kept your promise. You promised that you’ll get through this day without throwing a tantrum.”

“I wasn’t—I just—it was stupid.”

“No, you were a show-off,” Derek says, looking her in the eye.

“I wasn’t. It’s not my fault that they are idiots.”

“See? You’re not sorry.”

Derek pulls out three bowls and sets them on the dining table.

“Wait, are you cooking for me too?” Stiles asks, almost flattered.

Derek rolls his eyes and sets the mac and cheese he cooked in the middle of the table, reaching out to scoop some into Mary’s bowl and reminding her to blow and cool it down before she takes a bite. He also sets Fred a bowl of cat food in the corner and washes his hands before sitting down next to Stiles.

They eat quietly, Mary looking at Fred eat, Derek reading a newspaper on the table and Stiles still processing this whole situation. Why is Derek so adamant about calling Mary normal, sending her to a public school when she can get into better private schools?

Mary finishes her food, climbs down the chair and onto Derek’s lap, almost hitting his chin with her head, her golden hair contrasting his dark stubble.

“Derek?” she says, leaning her head back against his clavicle as she pulls his big hand into hers, playing with his calloused fingers.

“Hmmm?”

“I promise I won’t show off tomorrow. Will you stop being angry at me?”

Stiles’ heart melts at the sight of them both. He feels odd, like he is intruding an intimate moment. But he also so desperately wants to be a part of this intimacy. He wants to sit next to Derek like this, with Mary on Derek’s lap, both murmuring softly with a full belly contentment. He wants to commit this image to his memory. Goddamnit, he really isn’t doing himself a favour, fantasizing about them being a family together, Stiles in on the ride.

Derek sighs and mutters softly, eyes staring ahead at the wall, “I’m not angry at you. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t answer questions in class. I’m just—I want you to be… compassionate to others. I want you to make friends. You need to learn to accept people who are different than you are.”

“But how if they don’t accept me?” she asks, just as softly, still pulling at his fingers in her small palms.

“Then, they are idiots, remember?”

She smiles wistfully and drops his hand to raise her arms and wrap it around his neck, backwards, her cheek against his neck. Derek pats her on her tummy.

“All I’m asking is that you try.”

She nods, “I will.”

When Derek catches Stiles’ gaze, eyes still soft from looking at Mary, and Stiles glances away. He’s afraid his fondness would show on his face, and Derek would see right through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think so far. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles packs his bag after class and carefully looks around to make sure he doesn’t leave anything behind. He’s got his whiteboard markers, all six of them, and the blue eraser (it’s such a bitch of an affair to lose them because he has to ask the school admin and fill in Google forms for replacements)... and his cable for the projector (even that, he had to buy for himself). Like most other public schools, the teachers here suffer from a lack of resources, underpaid and overworked all the time, but he does love his kids enough to stay. He wasn’t supposed to return to Beacon Hills. He studied in New York, got a job there too. He returned when his dad was recovering from his first minor cardiac arrest. And then, one month after the other passed, he got this teaching gig, he told himself it's temporary. One year at best. Then, he bonded with the kids, late teens, lost and weirdly exhausted. They barely want to read read but seem to take a liking to his teaching after a while. And as the one year mark approached for him to terminate the contract and leave again, he met Derek and Mary. He’s not saying that they are the reason he stayed, that’s just insane. He stayed for his dad and for his job and for the kids. And if Derek and Mary added another reason to the list, who’s judging him?

Just as he pulls out his phone to check the time, he sees two missed calls from Derek about half an hour ago. He dials back immediately, phone precariously balanced on one side of his shoulder as he slings the bag on the other.

“Hey—“ Stiles says.

“Hi, sorry—“

“You called? Sorry, was in class—“

“No, it’s fine… Not fine per se. Mary got into a fight with a bully. I’m waiting outside the principal’s office again.”

“Oh shit. I’m coming right now.”

“No, it’s okay, Stiles. Thanks though—“

“I’ll be there in a minute. Bye.”

When Stiles reaches the reception, he scans Mary for signs of bruises as he approaches.

“Buddy, are you okay?” Stiles asks, kneeling in front of the seat that she’s slouching in, head hanging low.

“She’s fine. You should see the other guy.”

Stiles snorts a little in amusement but when Derek raises his eyebrows with a slight head tilt like _I’m not even kidding,_ Stiles does a double-take at Mary.

“Really?” Stiles asks.

“She broke his nose. And he’s 12 by the way. And stocky,” Derek replies.

“How?” Stiles looks at Mary again, with utter disbelief.

She is so small. She looks so fragile. Her thick, long eyelashes fluttering against her big eyes, a lot like Derek’s, and her sweet smile and golden locks could have fooled anyone. But he knows she’s strong in will... he just didn’t realise she can take on an older boy.

“Dictionary,” Mary answers in a whisper. “Hard cover.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles mouths at Derek, making sure she’s not looking at him.

Derek tilts his head again like _tell me about it._

“Why though?” Stiles asks just as the principal’s secretary steps out of the room to announce that Ms Morell is ready for the meeting.

Ms Morell will meet Derek while Mary remains in the reception area with Sarah - whoever Sarah is- from behind the desk, and Derek gets up with a clear reluctance.

Stiles asks, “Want me to come in with you?”

He immediately turns to Stiles with an open, anticipating face, but slowly puts on the cool, emotionless façade, “You don’t have to. I’m sure you’re busy.”

Stiles knows Derek. He’s been a close friend for a little over 2 years and a neighbour for much longer. Derek may not be verbally articulate but there have been quiet nights on the front porch, with a few beers on Saturday nights, when Derek has confessed that he has no idea if he’s raising Mary right. And that he doesn't know how and when to ask for help. He doesn’t share all his insecurities with Stiles but he knows that the basis of Derek’s relationship with his own father is the common suffering and joy of being a single parent. That’s why the Sheriff nudged Stiles to go make friends with Derek. Before that, he had only been an acquaintance who occasionally brings excess food over and plays with Mary for a while. So, he gets that Derek would prefer if Stiles could accompany him for the dreaded conversation, but he doesn't think to ask.

“I’ll come in. I’m already here anyway,” Stiles says with a pat on Derek’s shoulder as he walks past him.

Derek’s footsteps become more certain and quicker as he follows Stiles.

“Mr. Stilinski, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Ms Morell says with her hand interlocked under her chin as soon as he steps in and surveys the room.

She is young, very pretty, and very, very intimidating. She has the sort of calmness around her that often tips over into coldness as though she calculates every step. But he also knows that she is the youngest principal in the history of the school for a reason. She works relentlessly and while she’s too intimidating to be a high school teacher, she sure cares for the students in her own way. He thinks she’d understand if he states the reason for his interruption.

“Good afternoon, Ms Morell. I’m here with Derek?” He points a thumb backwards, where Derek is shadowing Stiles at the entrance. “I’m his neighbour. I know Mary very well and I thought I could just—“

“Mr. Stilinski, in your experience as a teacher, have you ever thought to call upon a neighbour to discuss a child’s disciplinary issues?”

Stiles shuts his mouth abruptly. That’s brutal. She’s obviously not in a pleasant mood.

“It’s okay, Stiles. I’ll handle it,” Derek says sullenly as he steps in and offers his hand to Ms. Morell before getting seated opposite her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stilinski, but I’m afraid I can’t let you join the meeting.”

He looks over and sees Erica standing in the corner, looking like she’s half amused and half upset on his behalf.

“But Ms. Reyes is allowed in?”

“She is the homeroom teacher. She knows Mary’s acumen as a student.”

“I would know better. I tutored her for two years. I still do, every Friday night. I’m here in my capacity as a tutor, not neighbour, sorry.”

Ms. Morell leans back on her chair as she fixes her glance at Derek.

“Is that true, Mr Hale?”

Derek merely nods.

“Do you wish for Mr. Stilinski to be here? Would that be an infringement of your privacy?” Ms. Morell gestures vaguely at Stiles.

“No, not at all,” Derek answers.

“Lock the door behind you then, Mr Stilinski. And I’m afraid I don’t have any more chairs to offer unless you want to go get yourself one?”

“No, thanks. Standing’s fine by me,” Stiles replies as he shuts the door with a click.

“Well, Mr Hale, in three and a half weeks of being here, this is the second strike for Mary. Do you understand the severity of the issue this time?”

“I saw the boy on my way in,” Derek says with a nod.

“Then, you would have seen that he is bleeding from his nose and his mother had to drive him to the hospital.”

“Yes.”

“We’re looking at suspension. Maybe even expulsion here.”

Stiles opens his mouth to negotiate something but he is cut off by Derek who clears his throat and leans forward in his chair, “Ms. Morell, I understand that violence is not an answer. That she should have never hit him. But she did tell me what happened as she told you, I believe?”

“What happened?” Stiles asks.

“Regardless of the circumstance—“ Ms Morell starts before she is interrupted by Derek.

“No, we must take into account the circumstance. The boy is 12, easily twice, maybe even thrice her size. He tripped over Mary’s classmate, a 7 year old kid, mind you. He completely thrashed the kid’s project for class. That is unacceptable. And my… she—Mary stood up to a bully and isn’t that—“

“She broke his nose, Mr Hale. That is a serious injury. How would you feel if someone did that to—“

“No, I get that. I get it. Hitting someone is bad. I know. But she stood up for a fellow friend. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m proud of her. Aren’t you? Even in the basic sense of virtue?”

“Yeah, I'm proud,” answers Stiles, to which Ms Morell shoots him a glare.

“Like I was trying to explain to you before you interrupted me, Mr Hale, regardless of the circumstances, that is not the right course of action. She should have reported the bully, not hit him publicly, endangering him and the students around him on a school bus. We cannot accept such behaviours in our school.”

“Can we at least negotiate the suitable repercussions?” Stiles asks on behalf of Derek.

She looks past him as she continues, “Now, that aside, let’s talk about what’s really the root cause here. I’ve been informed by Ms Reyes that Mary is an exceptionally intelligent child. Her unrest and behavioural issues most likely stem from her lack of belonging here. This school cannot possible provide the nourishment that she needs to fulfill her potentials. I think you should seriously consider enrolling her to a private school that caters to her calibre.”

She pushes a brochure towards Derek, but he sits unmoving. Stiles reaches over to take a look, but Derek stops him with a hand against his forearm as he leans.

“No, Ms Morell. I think this school is very much capable of educating Mary. She likes it here.”

“No, she doesn’t, Mr Hale. Ms Reyes here, for one, would know exactly how bored and demotivated Mary feels around her peers. Boredom is dangerous for a child her age with her gift. It just so happens that I know the headmaster of the Oaks Academy for Gifted Education,” she points at the brochure. “He is always happy to educate exceptional students like Mary…“

“Happy to as long as the parent can fork out $30 000,” Derek retorts.

“If money is the problem, you don’t have to worry at all. They provide scholarships. I’m sure Mary could get a full ride if she sits for their internal assessment.”

“No,” Derek repeats.

Ms Morell sighs in a controlled manner, so as to not outright show her discontentment. She looks to Stiles then.

“Mr Stilinski? You're a teacher. You get why this is important,” she urges.

“Derek, maybe we should go home and look into this?” Stiles asks quietly.

“No.”

“Why not? You didn’t even check what the school can offer. If she can get a scholarship and it’s not that far from home, isn’t it better that—“

“I know what the school offers, Stiles. My family has intimate experience with it. I don’t want Mary to go to an exclusive school. I want her here, with kids her age, doing things kids do. Let her be normal. Don't treat her differently.”

“Mr Hale, you do understand that the other end of the offer is expulsion?”

“I don’t suppose so, Ms Morell. This is the first time she has committed what you deem a serious offense. Unless your school expels first time offenders, I don’t suppose that is the offer you are proposing. So, give her detention or suspend her for a couple of days. I’ll talk to her about not hitting people. This will never be a problem again. But I’m not taking her out of this school unless you’re kicking her out,” Derek stands, leaving no room for arguments.

“I think this is a terrible choice on your part, Mr Hale,” warns Ms Morell, standing up from behind her desk. “You are limiting her potentials. Remaining in this school will merely dumb her down.”

“That’s fine. Dumb her down into a decent human being then, I have no complaints,” he shrugs with a casual smirk.

When Derek walks out of the room and picks Mary’s bag from the floor, Stiles starts, “Derek, maybe we should—“

“Stiles,” he says bluntly, signalling that he has had enough.

Derek cocks an eyebrow as he drily mutters, “Thanks for your help… but I’m bringing her home now.”  
 


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles goes home that day, feeling oddly hurt. And it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even going to pretend like he’s making any sense. Derek is Mary’s sole guardian. Just because he asks Stiles for help once in a while to babysit Mary or check up on her in school, it doesn’t give Stiles any prerogative over Mary’s well-being. And he’d do well keeping away from them. It makes no sense to him that Derek ending the conversation the way he did offended him and made him kinda sorta wanna cry a little maybe. It makes no sense. He thinks if he repeats it enough times, he will get himself out of this awful mood as he drives home.

Instead he parks the car outside the preserve and promptly gets into the business of indulging a massive panic attack.

 _Fuck… Am I in love with Derek?_ he wonders as he gasps for air pitifully.

It’s stupid. He simultaneously thinks he has known this for a while and that this is a completely new, baffling announcement. He found Derek... interesting, good looks and all. Slowly, that developed into a crush on Derek, because the man’s more than looks. He is kind. He has a dry sense of humour that Stiles loves. He takes care of Stiles’ father, always coming up with new ways to make vege-based dishes tasty. Stiles knows darn well that he likes Derek. But he didn’t, for one second, imagine falling in love with him. Derek is… Derek. An impossible dream in so many ways.

Stiles has always been clear headed in matters of love. He always thinks everything through. Sure, he sometimes fantasises about being with Derek, but that's just in his head, passing time. He goes out on dates, he flirts, he has fun, but he doesn’t fall in love easily. As a teenager, he sincerely thought something was wrong with him. He had obsessed over Lydia Martin for years. Everyone looked at him like a freak. Even Scott thought he was driven crazy by his infatuation.

Lydia was his best friend in middle school. She was smart and pretty and dead funny and she made Stiles feel like he was all those things too. In high school, she became acquainted with Jackson and when she started dating him, Stiles may have sat her down and told her exactly how big a douche he thought Jackson was. Everyone thinks he did it because he was in love with Lydia. True, he was. But it was also because he viewed Lydia as way out of Jackson's league, the cowardly bully. Also because Stiles knew what nobody else had figured out during high school, that Jackson is gay. How he knew that, well, he promised to take that to his grave. But he couldn’t out Jackson and tell Lydia about it. Lydia didn’t take it all too well and was hostile towards him. Called him a jealous pig, said he had that toxic nice guy syndrome.

Stiles being Stiles, he didn’t realise that it wasn’t his place. That people need to make their own mistakes. So, he kept trying to talk to Lydia. What nobody, including himself, comprehended during that dreadful year was that he loved his friendship more than he was in love with Lydia. But since nobody told teenage boys that they can be different, and demisexuality is a valid experience, that some people are only exclusively attracted to people that they have strong emotional bonds with, he told himself that he is an obsessive, self-loathing bastard. It was only by repairing his friendship with Lydia that he understood himself. And while Lydia Martin, that firecracker of a woman, didn’t spare Jackson for cheating with Danny behind her back, she did get herself educated about different sexualities and tried to figure Stiles out every time he complained about never falling in love.

After Lydia, he had been on numerous friendly dates. And he was always upfront about the fact that he isn’t into sex, not really, and that he takes a long, long time to fall in love. The girls he went out with often gave up by the third date due to his inaction. They were young, in college. Stiles seemed like a drag. And some secretly thought he was gay. Heather though, she was one step ahead. When she felt like Stiles wasn’t interested in her, she set him up on a blind date with her friend, Nicki.

It was already too late. He was in the café, staring down at the blond guy with immaculately coiffed hair, when he realised that Nicki is in fact not a girl. He thought it was ridiculous and laughed uncomfortably at the scenario when he found out, but the guy looked embarrassed at Stiles’ revelation. Almost upset.  So he thought, what the hell? It’s just lunch. He didn’t want to stand the guy up, didn’t want to seem homophobic.

Nick turned out to be pretty cool. Loved animals, owned six dogs that lived with his parents, studied Comic Art. That’s actually a thing. Stiles didn’t know until he met Nick. So, they bonded over their mutual love of comic and witty one-liners on t-shirts and Nick’s dogs, especially Luca, the fat, three-legged brown pug, that slobbered over Stiles’ hand whenever he visited Nick's family. Four months into the friendship, Stiles asked him out on a real date. Nine days after the first date, he came out to Scott and Lydia and his father as demisexual, interested in more than exclusively women. Two months after coming out, Stiles told Nick he loved him. Three weeks after, he had sex for the first time. Then, they moved in together.

A year and a half after, Nick, in one of his angry fits, called Stiles useless, absolutely fucking useless, for accidentally dropping Nick’s phone and cracking the screen. There were other harsh remarks made on Stiles' ADHD and clumsiness and incessant chatter. Stiles got the phone fixed for him and a day after, packed his bags and moved out, slept on Scott’s couch for months before he found another apartment.

Because Stiles has always been in control. He knows his heart and his head in matters of love. He has always prided himself as someone with self-respect. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. He didn’t believe in love without friendship and kindness. And he, sure as hell, doesn’t believe that a man who calls him absolutely fucking useless has any kindness left _for_ him. And he told Nicholas as much when the other man asked him what pushed him to break up.

So this whole Derek thing, this isn’t part of the plan. The plan is to occasionally hang out with Derek on his front porch and slowly get drunk on beer as they talk about life. The plan is to find him hot, objectively, and that’s that. The plan is to be Derek’s friend, and when he gets bored of living at home, to move back to New York. Not to be in love with Derek. Derek is as straight as it comes. And Stiles has never fallen for anyone without consciously wanting it. This though, this is not a part of his plan, he thinks, as he hangs his head against the steering wheel with a desperate whine.


	6. Chapter 6

On Friday, Derek drops by with Stiles' favourite cold tuna pasta salad and Mary in tow - both of which Stiles loves and often gets excited about. Stiles has had three days to settle his internal chaos. He _will_ fall out of love with Derek. He knows how his mind functions. He only feels attracted as long as the friendship remains valuable. He has to slowly detach himself from Derek until he becomes just another one of his acquaintances. Then, he’ll be alright. It hurts to think of someday becoming anything less than what he is to Derek now, but it’s smart. It’s rational. It makes sense, he tells himself.

So, he doesn’t open the door when Derek shows up. Lets his dad get the door instead. He only drags his heavy heart and feet downstairs when Derek has left. Mary, sitting on the kitchen counter and helping herself to sliced apples, jumps down and leaps at Stiles, knowing he will catch her and spin her around as he always does. He did it when she was 5, he’s still doing it when she’s 7.

He sets her down after a couple of spins and says, “You know, someday, you’ll be too big for this and I’ll crack my spine trying to catch you.”

She laughs and answers, “When I’m big, I’ll spin you around.”

“Like this!” she giggles and spins in place, pretending to be holding Stiles.

It’s moments like this that he remembers, she is a child in more ways than she is a genius. She may be the next human calculator in the making, but she is a child with imagination like any other kid. Who likes to be thrown around on soft mattress, who likes her apples red and rid of skin and in small slices. And someday, she will be too smart for him to teach her anything, grown up enough to take care of herself when Derek goes out on Friday nights, and she will no longer drop by. Maybe Derek will find someone by then, get married, and he will have no reasons to send Mary off to his place. And Stiles will be a neighbour, nothing more.

He reprimands himself for thinking that. He already is just a neighbour. It’ll do him good to keep that in mind.

“What are we reading today, Stiles?”

He pulls out a book from his bag that he borrowed from the library, like he does every Friday.

“Northern Lights,” he says as she runs her small hand on the cover.

“Whoa, I love the polar bear!”

*****

Derek shows up the next day during noon to bring Mary home. But this time, he brings over a store bought avocado, tomato and chicken sandwich for the Sheriff, double cheeseburgers for him and Stiles, and a small grilled chicken burger for Mary. There’s also an insane amount of curly fries. Stiles stands aside and watches as Derek takes the packages out of the plastic bag and sets them on the kitchen counter as the Sheriff grumbles. Derek doesn’t notice him standing there as he listens to Mary tell him about the first half of the book she started reading.

“Where’s Stiles? I got this for him,” Derek asks the Sheriff, pointing at the curly fries as Derek pops one in his mouth.

Stiles sneakily bolts out of the kitchen and goes into the small study room that his father uses as a private office. He hates that he got excited about Derek buying food that he likes. And he wonders if he could stay hidden long enough that Derek would leave with Mary. He doesn’t usually stay for too long anyway.

Instead he hears Derek call out loudly, “Stiles?”

He must be standing by the staircase, thinking Stiles was in his bedroom upstairs. Despite the closed door in the study room, Stiles can hear Derek speak to Mary softly.

“Hey, is Stiles mad at me? Did he look angry yesterday?”

Stiles’ heart beats rapidly. He wasn’t expecting that.

“No? Why? What did you do?” Mary asks him.

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Derek answers defensively. “I mean, I haven’t seen him around since Tuesday. Not even in the morning when he usually checks the mailbox. And he didn’t reply my text. Soooo… I don’t know if I said something?”

Derek did send him a text. To lord it over him that the Los Angeles Angels won. Stiles didn’t think he needed to respond. Well, to be fair, he usually does. He’s the sort of texter that replies everyone’s messages regardless of how unnecessary a response is. Derek used to make fun of him for that.

“Uh oh, you must have gone and done something, Der Bear,” he hears Mary say.

Derek calls out his name from the bottom of the stairs again and Stiles feels trapped. If he walks out of the study room now, it will be clear that he heard the conversation and has to deal with the awkwardness that ensues. But he can’t stay quietly hidden because now he hears his dad get involved in this supposed pursuit of him.

He puts his phone to his ear, pretends that he is speaking to someone and cracks the study room door open, feigning annoyance with a, “What?! I’m on the phone, jesus!”

Derek’s mouth forms an O and he whispers, “Sorry,” as he holds up the bag of curly fries.

Stiles nods and shuts the door, pretending to still be talking on the phone. He lets out an occasional _right, okay, yeah, that’s what I thought, no, you better ask her before you decide_ as he anxiously walks around the room, hating his stupid plan.

He looks at his ridiculous reflection on the tinted glass of the bookshelf and takes a deep breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself.

Then, he says a loud, exaggerated, “Bye, see you soon, Lyds… Love ya too,” before stepping out of the study room.

By then, Derek is cutting up Mary’s burger in four and setting it on the coffee table for her to eat as she watches TV.

Derek passes his burger and Stiles says, “Thank you,” without looking at him, feigning interest in the cartoon that Mary’s watching.

Derek doesn’t say anything, settles down with the Sheriff in the middle so Stiles thankfully doesn’t have to sit next to him or try and have a small talk half-heartedly.

He shoves his face with curly fries and stares diligently at the TV as his father and Derek talk about baseball.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, I know nothing about baseball. *laughs nervously*


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesdays are more of a breeze. Stiles only has two periods of class and one meeting to attend. He usually goes to the public library on Wednesdays to pick up a book for Mary but she still hasn’t finished reading Northern Lights from last week, so he gets himself a book instead.

He sees a sleek, black BMW parked outside of Derek’s place behind Derek's Camaro. He thinks that’s odd, nobody really visits the Hale residence, but he parks his car and goes into his house without glancing back. He doesn’t particularly like the weird coil of jealousy that he’s starting to feel, thinking about Derek bringing presumably a woman, a rich one at that, home. Just as he’s beating himself up for being juvenile, he gets a text from Derek.

Of course. Of course Derek wants Stiles to come get Mary. It must be a woman then. He has half a mind to tell Derek that it’s not Friday night, so Stiles has other plans but he doesn’t have the heart to say no when it comes to Mary.

 

 So, he obediently walks over to Derek’s, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar, chastising himself for feeling envious of whoever gets to spend the night. It's ridiculous, Stiles knows. He shouldn't hold it against Derek. He just feels like he is losing control and he's not that guy, usually. This is uncharted territory for Stiles.

When he knocks on the door, Derek opens it with a look of relief and gratitude.

He says loudly to someone inside the house, “And Mary’s tutor is here to pick her up,” then winks at Stiles without humour so as to ask him to play along.

Stiles finds himself irritated at the gesture. Mary’s tutor, sure.

“Huh?” he hears Mary’s loud exclaim.

“Stiles is here, Mary. Let’s go,” Derek answers, still not letting him past the threshold with his back towards him.

When Derek hears no response, he takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose forcefully the way he often does when he is running out of patience. Stiles used to find it adorable. Now, he wouldn’t let himself think that way.

He tilts his head to invite Stiles in as he steps away from the door. Stiles walks in, feeling like he is intruding and almost trips when he hears a very loud sneeze.

Fred dashes across the room, shaken by the sound and Stiles turns to look at Derek, perplexed. That is not a woman. Not at all.

He turns the corner and sees a man, looking down at Mary as she clicks away at a laptop.

“I'd kill a priest for a Benadryl,” says the man, with a distinctly British accent, as Derek walks in.

“Still with the allergies?” Derek asks.

“Why do you have a cat?” he walks over to Derek in what looks to Stiles like a contemptuous manner.

He speaks softly enough that Mary isn’t picking up on it. Stiles notices that the man’s brown hair is greying at his temples, his frown lines are deep and he has bright blue eyes and long eyelashes, almost the same with Mary’s. He looks older, closer to the Sheriff’s age than Derek’s but definitely a lot fitter, accentuated by his blue v-neck shirt. He doesn’t even spare Stiles a glance.

“You don’t even like cats,” the man says.

“It’s not my cat, it’s Mary’s. I’m along for the ride,” Derek answers. “This is Mary’s tutor. She should get going,” Derek says, tilting his head towards Stiles.

The man offers his hand to Stiles, “Peter.”

“Hi. Stiles? Stilinski,” Stiles replies, feeling suddenly 8 years old and ashamed of his silly sounding nickname.

“Sti—Never mind,” he looks at Stiles incredulously and Derek crosses his arms, almost defensively at that.

“Stiles!” Mary shouts. “Look at this, so many cool things in Apple.”

“Macbook, darling. Top of the line with the retina display,” the man, Peter, answers.

“You know who else has a retina display?” Stiles asks jokingly.

Both Stiles and Mary say, “Fred!” at the same time, and Stiles smiles as Mary giggles at that.

Peter turns around haughtily, dismissing Stiles and walks over to Mary.

“I hear that you love Mathematics. You will find a great out of print book by Charles Zimmer in there, called Transitions in Advanced Algebra…” Peter says.

“Yeah. Love that book,” Mary answers.

“You're saying you've read it?” Peter asks, staring with wide eyes.

“Yeah, Der gave me that for my last birthday. I've kinda moved on to differential equations now.”

Peter snaps to look at Derek and tries to recompose his expression to one of casual nonchalance when Derek snorts and says, “Mary, don’t forget your manners now. Say thank you, grand uncle.”

“Thank you, grand uncle,” Mary parrots, not looking up.

“Grandfather or Peter will do just fine,” Peter says, his strong British accent out of place in Derek’s house.

Stiles stares in amusement. Who is this guy?

“Anyway, I have added some resources in there that you might fascinating. Many challenging equations for you to attempt—“

“Yes, and I’m sure that’s all great but she has to do her homework now. It’s school night,” Derek answers, not as friendly as before. “Mary, say bye bye to grandfather or Peter.”

“Bye bye, grandfather or Peter,” Mary parrots, finding it funny.

Then, she puts the Macbook on the table and jogs up the stairs, looking for Fred. Derek walks Peter to the door, and Stiles stands by the archway of the kitchen, curious.

“So let me guess. Our lovely principal, Ms Morell, contacted you?” Derek asks quietly.

Stiles doesn’t know if he should leave.

“Never get on the bad side of small-minded people with authority. I thought I taught you better than that,” Peter answers haughtily.

“What are you doing here, Peter?” Derek asks now, a little hostile.

“Don’t I have the right to see my granddaughter?”

“Oh, I’m really glad your exhausting 7 year search has come to a fruitful conclusion,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows.

Peter rolls his eyes, very similarly to the way Derek does in exasperation.

“You live in a mosquito ranch in the middle of the jungle. Is this really a conscious choice?” Peter asks, gesturing to the house. “I saw a cockroach this big,” he puts out his hand, as though indicating the size of a dog, clearly exaggerating. “I feared for my safety.”

“Sure, maybe you should get going then. Before the cockroach gets you,” Derek replies.

“This is not a place for a child,” Peter says.

“It’s as good as any.”

“Ms Morell did the right thing calling me up. You know why I’m here. Consider the proposition, Derek.”

"And the answer is..." Derek pretends to think for a while, "No."

"Well, in that case, nephew dearest, lawyer up. I presume you don't quite have the money for it. So, don't say I didn't ask nicely."

When Derek opens his mouth to speak, eyebrows drawn together in anger, Peter puts up his hand. “Not in front of the… tutor,” he says, giving Stiles a once-over patronisingly before wearing his coat.

"See me tomorrow. I'll call you with the details," Peter says, walking to his car.

Derek watches him drive away, looking a little lost.

Without turning to look at Stiles, he says, “Thank you, Stiles.”

“Who’s that?” Stiles asks, approaching Derek.

“Long story,” he sighs.

“Derek, is this going to be a problem?”

When Derek doesn’t answer, Stiles starts, “Jesus, I told you this before. I warned you when you wanted to send her to a public school. It was such a careless thing to do, Derek. What if...I mean-- if that guy or anybody else comes to—“

“Stiles!” Derek cuts him off, scanning for Mary. “That will be all for now. Thank you for your help. Really appreciate it.”

Stiles got the message loud and clear so he storms off, muttering under his breath.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles comes home the next day to find Derek Hale on his front porch, talking to the Sheriff. It would have been an ordinary sight if it weren’t for the fact that Mary is not with Derek. As he approaches, he sees the Sheriff looking down at some papers, hands slightly shaking, and face flushed. He knows that look on his father’s face; it has never been good. He glances at Derek and that… stops Stiles in his tracks.

Derek rubs the nape of his neck uncomfortably as the Sheriff hits him on the chest with the papers, and he looks upset, wounded even. Stiles has seen anger on Derek’s face, indifference, confusion but never quite hurt.

“What’s going on? Where’s Mary?” Stiles asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Play-date. With Jane,” Derek replies, hands in his pocket.

“Stiles!” his father exclaims, taken aback by his sudden presence. “You will not _believe_ what--what this man has done,” the Sheriff says, frowning down at the document before passing it to Stiles.

It’s a legal document, challenging Derek Hale as the rightful guardian of Mary. Stiles reads it pensively; he can’t lie. He knew this was coming. A court case. He had that dreadful feeling brewing in his gut since meeting Peter. The man gave off the impression that he had a lot of money and time lying around to be expended on this.

“You have no idea, Stiles. He’s not even Mary’s father! Can you believe this? He’s _not_ the father! He didn’t correct us all these years. Derek is her uncle. He just took her across states after her mother passed away. He didn’t go to child services. He just assumed custody. Can you believe this?! That’s illegal, Derek! What were you thinking?”

“It’s what my sister would have wanted.”

“Your sister is not alive! She cannot testify in court for you!” the Sheriff raises his voice but immediately deflates when he sees Derek’s head drop, unable to hold eye contact.

“Dad, come on. That is uncalled for,” Stiles chastises.

The Sheriff shakes his head and mutters. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But d--do you even understand what this means, Derek?”

He nods slowly, “That’s why I’m here, talking to you.”

“There is no winning this, son! If that other guy— your family--“ he stops to tap at the documents in Stiles’ hands before Stiles supplies unhelpfully, “Peter.”

“Yeah, Peter! If Peter wins, he gets Mary. If he doesn’t… Wait, how do you know his name?” the Sheriff asks, glancing at Stiles but immediately looking away and answering it himself, “It’s in the document.”

“If he doesn’t?” Stiles asks.

“What?”

“Dad, focus! You said if Peter doesn’t win. Then what?”

“Then, she might end up in welfare. It’s hard on Derek’s side. Look at him. The school doesn't think he's doing a good job parenting. _And_ he already broke the law, assuming custody. He should have filed for it. Jesus! What were you thinking, boy?”

“I wasn’t—I don’t know! I was going to call the CPS every time. I know I should have. But she just… she’d say something smart or do something funny and I—I just wanted to... She’s family,” Derek says softly.

Stiles reaches out to touch his arm reassuringly but when Derek startles, he retracts his hand and opens the door instead.

“Let’s figure this out inside. There’s nothing to be done out here,” Stiles says.

“How are you so cool about this?” the Sheriff asks, throwing his hands up in irritation as he follows his son in.

When Stiles doesn’t reply, the Sheriff stops him on his way to the kitchen. “Mieczysław Stilinski, tell me you knew nothing about this or help me God—“

Derek immediately answers, “No, no. He didn’t know--”

“Yes, I did,” Stiles says, looking pointedly at him. “I do know, dad. And I know this is exactly how you’d react so I didn’t tell you.”

“Stiles, what—of all people…You know how the law works. You know better than him.”

“Yes, but I also know the law wouldn’t side _him_. He's a single guy, he's not the father, he fixes cars  _part time_ in a small, shit town like this, no offense, dad. They won't even listen to what he has to offer. Especially not if that child is a genius of sorts that the school or the government or random rich people like Peter would have a vested interest in. I know that the law doesn’t always give people what they deserve, dad. Good or bad. You taught me that.”

The Sheriff plops on the couch, looking like he has been dragged through two wars in the span of ten minutes.

“We need to get a lawyer,” the Sheriff says. “And a damn good one. The best one there is.”

Stiles nods. “I’ll ask Lydia.”

The Sheriff looks at him incredulously with narrowed eyes.

“She’s a corporate lawyer, kid. What are you--? First, you let Derek break the law and now you can’t even differentiate--”  

"He didn't _let_ me do anything," Derek says quietly.

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard, “Lydia has contacts, dad. Jesus! Are you going to get on my nerves all day? Don't you have work to get to?”

“I just don’t want them to take Mary away,” the Sheriff says, rubbing his face.

He leans against his knees and the slump in his shoulders reminds Stiles of a time long ago when the Sheriff had lost his wife and had to juggle his taxing job and a troubled child, drowning in grief and guilt and can’t seem to sit still in fear of his own dark thoughts.

“They won’t. We won’t let them. You can’t—dad, we need you to start thinking solutions more than problems right now.”

“My shift is about to start.” The Sheriff sighs loudly as he stands. “I’ll go call some people up, ask around, see what we can do,” he says.

On the way to the front door, he walks past Derek, pauses in his steps and pats him on his shoulder, trying but failing to be comforting. Derek merely leans against the wall and stares at his feet. Stiles does not know what to say; Derek’s tight-lipped expression does not give any indication that Derek would like to talk either.

So, Stiles does what he knows best when dealing with people at their lowest. He cooks. There isn’t much in the kitchen to work with so he makes stuffed baked potatoes and mac and cheese from a box. He adds sausages in them and calls it decadent. By the time he’s done, he has smeared mac and cheese on his work pants and his shirt cuffs were wet.

He walks out of the kitchen to change and finds Derek on the couch, sitting at the edge of it, staring at the document like he will find a loophole in it.

“What time would Mary be back?”

“I’m going to pick her up now. It’s already 7.00,” Derek says, looking up at the clock like he didn’t realise time has passed.

“I made dinner. Will you bring her here?”

“No. It’s been a long day.”

“But I cooked and all,” Stiles says.

“I can’t right now, Stiles. I just want to put her to bed and go to sleep myself. I’m tired.”

“Then wait, I’ll pack dinner for the both of you.”

Derek stands up and adjusts his grey Henley, before turning to Stiles.

“Don’t tell her anything though. Not yet,” Derek says, almost pleadingly.

“I won’t.”

Stiles takes his time showering and tries to process his own feelings. He knows a conversation must be had with Derek as to who Peter is and what exactly is the nature of his relationship to Mary before Stiles can call up Lydia and ask for legal advice. He doesn’t know how willing Derek is to participate in any conversations at this state. And a part of Stiles is angry. He can’t pinpoint what it is but he’s pissed off at Derek.

He knew this would be a problem when Derek maintained that Mary must go to a public school. He told him that much. He is familiar with the system, having been a teacher for so many years. He knew that this will likely raise some doubts on Derek’s capacity as a parent, especially when he refused the scholarship offer to enrol Mary into the school for gifted children. Either he should have sent her to that school where no one would have asked too many questions; all the students are above and beyond what is normal for a child anyway. Or he should have continued home-schooling Mary.

Stiles warned Derek that institutions under the government can and will look up on a child’s history if the parent does not seem agreeable with the school. Derek snickered and called him paranoid. Convinced Stiles that Mary will fit in, that she promised to make an effort, that she deserves the chance, that he’s sending her to the school Stiles works in so Mary knows she has someone there to look after her. The latter, of all things, made Stiles feel important and weakened his conviction that this was an entirely horrendous idea.

And what more can Stiles say, really? Derek wasn’t a talker. In fact, Stiles found out that Mary was his niece because of Mary, accidentally ratting out information. They were playing Snake and Ladder on a Friday night more than a year ago when Stiles noticed Mary sulking.

“Buddy, why the sad face? The game is far from over,” he said, his totem climbing the ladder and overtaking hers.

“I miss Derek.”

“You get to go home tomorrow afternoon. It’s not that long. And I’m sure he misses you too.”

“Maybe we can call Derek later?” she asked, eyes wide and excited.

“Of course. Before bed, we’ll give him a call, okay?”

“Okay!” she answered enthusiastically as she whispered luck into her dice and shook it for so long in her palms before tossing them.

“Why do you call him Derek and not daddy? Don’t you think that’s a little rude?” Stiles asked her out of curiosity.

To which she answered unthinkingly, “Cause he’s not my daddy.”

“What?” Stiles asked, his hand paused mid-air, still holding on to the dice.

Mary covered her mouth and froze, staring at him in shock.

“Please don’t tell Derek I told you. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. Derek said they can take me away.”

“What? Mary, what are you saying? Who's them?” Stiles asked, anticipating the worst with apprehension.

For a second, his mind ran through grotesque scenarios, all the police cases he used to eavesdrop. ‘Kidnap’, he thought and he hated himself for even thinking it.

She must have seen the fear in Stiles’ eyes because her lips started quivering as though Stiles was about to get her in trouble.

“Love, what do you mean Derek is not your father?” Stiles asked again, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Derek is my uncle. My mummy died when I was this small,” she points with her hands, as though Stiles couldn’t imagine how small babies could be.

“What about your father then?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t have one. Derek said my daddy wasn’t ready for me. It was only mummy and Derek. But mummy died.”

“How did she… pass away?”

“She had an illness. Derek said he can’t explain it. It’s okay. Derek said he can take me to the library when he’s free. Then we can read about illnesses. Maybe I’ll explain it to Derek,” she said laughingly as though it was amusing.

She then glanced sideways and looked at Stiles seriously with narrowed eyes. “You can’t tell anyone, Stiles. This is our secret. Derek and me. And now you. Three of us only club.”

Stiles nodded and distractedly threw the dice so he could continue the game. That night, when Stiles called Derek so Mary could speak to him, Derek had asked if he should come over and get her.

“I’m at home. Not going out. She can stay with me, Stiles.”

“No, nope. She’s about to sleep. She’s brushing her teeth now.”

“I can carry her home—“

“No, Derek. Don’t spoil her. This is her Friday night routine. If you take her home now, she’ll make it a habit to ask for you every time you’re away. And then you’ll never have time for yourself.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he conceded quietly. “It’s just…”

“You miss her too.”

“I do.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll pass the phone to her, you say your good nights. Then when she’s fast asleep, meet me at my front porch. I got a cold six pack in the fridge.”

Derek had laughed a little and asked to speak to Mary then. It was only late that night, having finished Stiles’ beers and had more from Derek’s stock that Stiles had asked about Mary’s mother.

“She passed away when Mary was a year and a half.”

 “And what about her father?”

Derek turned around so quickly, Stiles wondered if it hurt to do that.

“What do you mean?” he had asked, mouth open in surprise.

“Mary told me you’re not her father.”

“She did, huh?”

“I prompted it. Not her fault, really. And I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“My sister, that’s Mary’s mum, she got pregnant at 26. And she never quite dated much before that. She couldn’t tell a good guy from a bad one. He took off running when she told him about the pregnancy. So...I helped when I could. But it’s not like she really needed me—she was a darn good mother. And the one time she did need me, I wasn’t there…”

“You weren’t?” Stiles asked, confused.

Derek just shook his head. “I don’t intend to repeat that mistake with Mary. I’m gonna be there for her.”

“You already are... there for her, I mean.”

Stiles found it disconcerting that Derek mentioned not being there for his sister. So, he tried to navigate the conversation back to that point but Derek merely smiled.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah, Derek?”

“I’m gonna go. You should go back in and get some sleep,” Derek said, bending his arms to push himself off the lawn chair.

“You’re gonna leave me hanging on that last question?”

Derek smiled, his bunny teeth entirely too adorable for Stiles to handle so late at night.

“Thank you for this. And for taking care of Mary. I don’t say it enough.”

“You don’t have to. I love having her around. She’s… something,” Stiles said, smiling back at Derek.

“She really is something,” Derek said, leaning down to pick up all the cans.

It must have been the buzz of the alcohol or the camaraderie of sharing secrets or both. But when Stiles asked Derek to just drop it, he can clean in the morning, Derek leaned over and gave Stiles a one armed hug.

“Thanks, Stiles.”

 By the time Stiles brought his arms up to return the hug, Derek was off, carrying the plastic bag of cans across the lawn to his house.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles prunes his dahlia plant pretty aggressively before he puts down the gardening shears with a resigned sigh. No point accidentally cutting off good stems just because he’s frustrated with one Derek Hale, who may or may not have bought him the scarlet dahlias in the first place. And it’s still a mystery. He had come home from school one day to find a pot with a tuber planted in the soil and printed instructions on how to care for them, placed conveniently in his front garden. He calls it a garden but it’s probably just a couple of potted plants arranged sadly in a row, but it’s a garden to Stiles. It’s the best he can do with his current commitments.

He assumed that it was courtesy of his father as he cared for it, watered it, only to discover that it blossomed into dahlias. But his father had looked genuinely surprised at the outcome, both of them awkwardly clearing their throats to avoid tearing up at the sight. Stiles’ mother loved dahlia the most among all the other flowers she planted. He learnt gardening from her. Remembrance of the times she was hunched over a plant, tending to it for hours on end, was bittersweet for both Stiles and his father. But Stiles was flabbergasted. If the Sheriff didn’t get him the plant, who did?

He asked Derek about it but the man had merely raised his eyebrow with a certain lack of interest that it seemed ridiculous to even think Derek would have bought him the plant. There was no way that Derek would have known what dahlias meant to Stiles. But some days, he waters the plant, touches the petals and has this weird, gut feeling that it may have been from Derek.

That was almost a year back. He’d like to think that they have come a long way since then but lately, Derek has been getting on his nerves. Today, he finds himself staring at the dahlias with exasperation. He takes off his plastic gloves and digs through his pyjama pants for his phone.

 

Derek has yet to reply Stiles despite it being 3 hours since Stiles last texted him. And this isn't just Stiles rambling about some nonsense. This is important. Sometimes, he feels like he is talking to a mountain, just hearing his own voice echo in the otherwise mocking silence. He gets that Derek isn’t a talker, definitely not a texter -or whatever one might call someone who texts a lot, Stiles doesn't know. He only knows that he belongs in the category- but Stiles has been anxious all day. Even in class, a student had to raise her hand to tell him that he was talking too fast. He has a deal with his kids; they should call him out on his quirks when necessary. He sometimes walks too much while teaching, often the motion calms him down but ends up distracting his kids. But today, even after she asked if he could slow down, he found himself unable to speak in a measured, relaxed way.

Unfortunately, the first thing he learnt as a teacher is that his energy will always influence the energy within the class. If he is joyous, the kids will follow suit. If he is tired, the kids will inevitably work in a sluggish manner. And if he is anxious, talking too fast, all jittery, the kids will also feel hurried and lost and the lesson for that day goes mostly to waste.

That's why Stiles had to text Derek in the middle of the lesson, just to get his mind off of things. At least his students were cooperative and they researched and discussed in groups for their end of the week presentation. But the short and late replies from Derek has been getting to Stiles in all the awful ways.

He locks the phone with a harsh press of the button when he hears Derek’s Camaro approaching down the road. He wears his gloves and continues pruning his plant, not wanting to look at Derek get out of the car after parking it, but he hears the footsteps and knows that Derek is crossing over to his yard.

Stiles looks up only when Derek clears his throat.

“I was wondering… is today still on?” Derek asks.

Stiles was just about to agree to inviting Derek over for beers and their much needed discussion on Peter when Derek interrupts his thoughts.

“I mean with Mary. Do you mind having her over? It’s Friday night, so I thought…" Derek pauses when he sees Stiles glare at him. "It’s okay if you’re busy.”

Stiles stands up with a huff, drops the gardening shears on the ground and pulls off his gloves forcefully.

“Did you read my text?”

“I did... was busy at work. I've already been asking around for legal council. Maybe we'll talk tomorrow or something.”

“You couldn’t just tell me that? Didn’t get half a minute in between work?” Stiles asks, crossing his arms.

“Stiles…” Derek sighs.

When he sees Stiles still glaring at him, Derek exhales through his nose in a way that conveyed he isn’t up for this conversation.

“You’re angry but I don’t get why,” Derek says. He adds when Stiles refuses to respond, “So… do you want me to send Mary over or should I just--?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I want Mary over! I want Mary over every day if I can, Derek! Isn’t that the fucking problem?”

Derek looks up at him, eyes wide, and Stiles feels… too exposed.

He lashes out, “I want her over. I want her to stay with you, with us all, here, in Beacon Hills. But who am I? Just the bloody neighbour. The court isn’t going to ask me what I think of your uncle or whoever the fuck, surfacing out of nowhere and trying to take Mary away from here. Just like Morrell told me to fuck off politely when I entered the room with you. Who cares about what I think or feel about this whole dreadful fucking thing?! _You_ didn’t care. I told you repeatedly… I told you that sending her to my school is a bad idea. I asked you to consider Morrell’s suggestion. But wh--what did you do? You don’t give a single shit what I have to say, why would anyone else? Cause who am I to Mary? Huh? Just the stupid neighbour who loves her like-- like family. Just-- fuck!”

Derek gapes at Stiles, his eyebrows furrowed deeper and his mouth a little open. Stiles feels stupid and guilty, like he is caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t.

He clears his throat and finishes softly, “Send her over. We still haven’t finished reading Northern Lights.”

He turns his back to Derek and takes a few steps towards his house when Derek says, “I’m sorry about how this turned out. But you’re... a lot. To Mary. You’re family to her. Even if other people don’t get it. And I’m sorry I didn’t… I wasn’t… look, I just--”

“Just make sure they don’t take her away, Derek,” Stiles says, without looking back.  

He thinks he hears Derek quietly answering, "I promise."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think. :) We're slowly getting to developing Stiles' and Derek's friendship.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles has been texting Lydia since morning, trying to explain what he knows of this custody battle. Mary plays with Fred in the living room as Stiles slowly stirs a simmering pot of chicken soup while alternately checking his phone every 10 seconds. He blames this multitasking for all that happens next.  

“Stiles!” Mary calls out.

“Yes?”

“Where’s my DVD?”

“What?”

“Where’s my DVD?!”

“It should be there in the box!” Stiles replies distractedly.

“It’s not here!”

“Jesus, would you both keep it down?” the Sheriff remarks from his bedroom on the ground floor.

 He had just finished an overnight shift and was trying to get some sleep to stave off the ensuing headache. That’s why Stiles has resorted to chicken soup. Mary drags her feet to the kitchen with Fred in her arms. He’s a little too big for her but she tries to steady him anyway.

“The DVD’s not there,” Mary whines as Stiles focuses on reading Lydia’s long text with chockful of legal jargon.

“Don’t drag your feet, girl. I’m cooking for Pops. Go find the DVD, you’re the last person to watch it,” Stiles says, not looking up.

The next thing he knows, he has served the soup and Mary was nowhere to be found. He has checked upstairs, in his dad’s office, in his dad’s room, front yard, toilet, behind the couch… nowhere. He notices then that the key to Derek’s place, that he keeps in a bowl on the TV counter with his car keys, was missing. In a moment of wild panic, Stiles runs across the yard to Derek’s, all the while praying that she’s there while also worrying about her bumping into some woman or another. There’s a car parked behind the Camaro and that’s usually what it means.

Just as he is about to knock on the door, it opens by itself and a man, tall and lean, with brown hair and green eyes steps out with Derek right behind him, holding Mary’s hand.

Stiles bends over in relief at the sight of Mary. She is safe.  

“Deputy Parrish,” Stiles exclaims breathlessly.

“Ah… Stiles. Hi,” the deputy answers, shifting a little.

Stiles is so glad that Mary didn’t walk into anything inappropriate. Derek didn’t bring a woman home. Jordan Parrish is the newest deputy in town and he is kind, friendly to everyone he meets. The Sheriff finds him very obedient and easy going among his colleagues. Stiles thinks it has something to do with the doughnut box that Stiles found in his father’s car. Parrish must be secretly feeding his father, despite Stiles’ public announcement to never do so.  

Stiles has hung out with Parrish at the station a couple of times. They get along, talking about video games and old Bernice, the town gossip who always starts the weirdest rumours. Parrish hears all about it first and foremost when he goes on his rounds.  

“I’ve never seen you off the uniform. Looking good. Like an actual person,” Stiles says jokingly, adjusting the deputy’s coat where it’s twisted near the shoulder.

“Wait, what are you doing here?” he asks as an afterthought, curious.

The deputy waves goodbye to Derek and Mary and walks down the stairs, with Stiles following him.

“I was about to ask you the same until I realised, that’s the Sheriff’s car,” Parrish says as he points across the yard. “Derek’s a friend,” he adds.

“Oh, he never mentioned,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, he fixed my car. We were drinking at the bar. I just crashed here for the night. Wouldn’t risk drinking and driving with the Sheriff right next door,” Parrish answers laughingly with a pat on Stiles’ back.   

Stiles laughs a little and says, “Well, alright. Drive safe, man.”

“Will do. Take care, Stiles.”

When Stiles climbs back up the three steps to enter Derek’s house, he is surprised to find an angry Derek, staring down at Mary.

“Where should you be on Saturday mornings?”

Mary sits on the edge of the couch, hugging Fred.

Derek bends down and shakes her by the shoulder, “Answer me. Where should you be?”

“Stiles’ house.”

“What time are you allowed to come home?”

“2 o’clock.”

“And what’s the time now?”

When she doesn’t answer, Derek raises his voice at her.

“What’s the time now, goddamnit?”

Mary’s face crumples as she looks at the clock and answers, “9.45.”

“Then why are you here, huh?!”

Mary mumbles under her breath but Derek doesn’t let her go.

“I asked you a question!”

“I came to get the DVD,” Mary answers, crying in earnest now.

“Derek, what are you--” Stiles asks, shocked at Derek’s reaction.

He knows they have a rule in place; Stiles was the one that suggested it. But this isn’t the first time Mary had gone running back home. In fact, it’s Stiles that usually chastises her for that behaviour. She doesn’t do it anymore, now that she’s older. But he didn’t expect Derek to get angry, particularly given that he is usually patient, always talks to Mary like an adult, an equal. Now, he’s holding her by the shoulder and forcing her to answer him. He’s not rough with her, but still, this is new for Derek. Even Mary looks shocked.

“Don’t, Stiles,” Derek says curtly, not even looking at him.

“Are you allowed to use Stiles’ key to come into the house?” Derek asks Mary once he was certain that Stiles wouldn’t interfere. 

He picks Fred off her lap and sets him down.

“No,” Mary says, leaning over to carry Fred again and Derek stops her, nudging Fred away.

“You broke the rules,” he says to Mary then. “We have these rules for a reason.”

“I just wanted to get the DVD and go back,” Mary hiccups.

“Doesn’t matter! We’ve gone over these rules a hundred times. For God’s sake, can I just get five minutes of my life?! Is that too much to ask?”

Mary pushes Derek’s hand away and runs to Stiles. She hugs his hip as she cries, hands clutching Stiles’ sweatpants. The key in her one hand prods against Stiles’ skin and he takes it from her.

Stiles carries her in his arms and she hides her face against his neck, face wet and feverish from the tears. Derek’s eyes widen as the implication of his words finally registers.

“Mary…” Derek starts but Stiles just shakes his head gently.

“I'll bring her back at 2,” Stiles answers as he carries her to his place.


	11. Chapter 11

“It’s not 2 yet,” Stiles says to Derek, waiting expectantly on the other side of his door with a hunched posture and unable to stand still.

He has Fred in his hands, the cat looking into the house as well.

“I know. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. Can I see Mary?” Derek answers, adjusting Fred in his arms.

Any other day, Stiles would have found his agitation adorable. Any other day.

“But I thought rules are there for a reason and all,” Stiles answers haughtily.

That stills Derek; he looks up at Stiles and opens his mouth to say something, but glances away.

Stiles moves away from the entrance, indicating for Derek to walk in.

“You can sit in the living room, watch TV or whatever, but she’s upstairs in her room. And you won’t be seeing her until 2,” Stiles says.

Derek nods weakly, clearly unhappy but unable to say anything else.

“That’s how you set boundaries, Derek. I’ve been doing it for years with her. You don’t do enough of it. What’s the point of getting angry after?” Stiles remarks with his arms crossed as he leans against the wall and watches Derek perch uncomfortably on his couch.

Fred jumps off, wanders to the rug in the kitchen and lies down for a nap under the strip of sunlight.

“I know, I know. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at her. It’s my fault. I was just embarrassed about… Well, it’s not—I shouldn’t have. I just thought I’d come over and—“

Stiles quips, “Yeah, if she ends up a drug addict or an alcoholic in the future, that’s on you.”

Derek looks up abruptly with wide eyes for a moment but deflates when Stiles laughs a little. He rolls his eyes at Stiles but still fidgets in his seat.

“It’s not like... the absolute worst thing that any parent has done, Derek. Chill. I just meant that you tend to let her get away with barging into your space. So, when you got angry, it felt like a big deal for her. You gotta follow through with rules on a regular basis, no exceptions. Like how I won’t let you go get her till 2.  That’s how kids function, they’re creatures of habit. You don’t see Mary barging into my place, do you? Not that I’d mind but—“

“Only because she doesn’t have the key to your place,” Derek answers with an eye roll.

Stiles’ feels called out and he scratches his nose with a finger while scrunching his face.

“Okay, I’ll keep the key elsewhere,” Stiles says.

“I wasn’t blaming you or anything.”

“I know. I’m not blaming myself either,” Stiles replies with a wink. “Want chicken soup and toast? I have leftovers from breakfast.”

 “Sure,” Derek says. “Thanks.”

Derek follows Stiles to the kitchen. They both lift their legs and cross Fred at the threshold and Fred looks up, unamused, before going back to sleep. Derek washes a bowl as Stiles reheats the soup and tells him about the Sheriff’s migraine.

Stiles ends up asking Derek about Peter because the man has been haunting his thoughts for the past few days.

“Why does Peter speak like that?”

“Like what? British?” Derek asks with a chuckle.

“Yeah. Is he just trying to be pretentious and rich or what?”

“He is all that. But he’s also British. My mum’s British too.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. She moved to America when she married my dad.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, trying to make sense of this information.

“Peter called yesterday, by the way,” Derek says in between conversations.

“What did he say?” Stiles asks as he stirs the pot.

“He told me what he really thought of me. And my home. And the school.”

“And what would that be?”

“Substandard.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at that.

Derek continues, “He said that at some point, he expects me to have the brains to figure out that the child’s best interest is all that matters. And this whole normal life is bullshit because she isn’t normal. And treating her as such is negligence.”

“And what did you say?”

Derek shrugs as Stiles pours the soup into his bowl.

“I still stand by trying to let her lead as normal a life as possible. My sister would have wanted that. And she sure as hell wouldn’t want her to grow up with Peter. But sometimes I wonder, like today? Maybe I am not… good enough for her anyway.”

“For Mary?”

Derek nods as he scoops a spoonful of soup.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Stiles answers resolutely.

If he’s certain of anything, it’s that Derek has been a better parent to Mary all by himself than the many parents of the kids he teaches who never quite accepted their children for who they are. Derek is kind and takes the time to talk to Mary and genuinely listens to her which is more than what most adults do, Stiles included. Even when he loses his temper like today, he’s never been egotistical to disregard Mary’s anger. He apologises and he expects that Mary does the same when she wrongs someone else. In fact, Mary’s ability to stand up for herself and remain righteous when most people would choose a convenient stance, her empathy for the imperfect, like Fred the one-eyed cat that she adopted from the dumpster, her capacity to self-reflect and articulate her thoughts - which makes up for more of her intelligence than her math skills, if Stiles can say so himself- are inherited from Derek’s parenting. He’s not always right, but he has always been good enough.

He doesn’t quite know how to say it to Derek so he just reiterates, “You’re good enough, Derek.”

Stiles goes to sit on the counter as Derek leans against the sink and munches on the toast.

“I never told you how Mary ended up with me,” Derek says, looking intently at something behind Stiles.

“Your sister passed away. Mary said she was ill?”

Derek nods to himself, “Depressed.”

Stiles didn’t… expect that. He expected cancer, heart issues, something. Not that.

“She came over to my place, back in New York?” Derek says, finally looking at Stiles.

When Stiles nods, signalling that he’s listening, Derek continues, “With Mary, she was like a year and a half. I was on my way out, late for a date.”

Derek looks down again, stirring the soup in his bowl to distract himself.

“It’s stupid. I should have known she needed me. She showed up with her baby. I just said, stay here, I’ll come home at night, we’ll talk then. By the time I got home that night, Mary was asleep on the couch and Laura… I found her in the bathroom.”

Stiles stares at Derek, afraid to ask but unable to stop himself.

“What-- how?”

Derek looks at him questioningly. Stiles sees the moment the penny drops because Derek flinches unconsciously.

“Slit her wrists. I was too late.”

Stiles’ eyes tear up involuntarily and he blinks them away; he’s suddenly so scared and he can’t tell why. He feels cold all over. Maybe because he is completely taken aback by this revelation. All these years, he had wondered and made up stories in his mind about how Mary’s mother would have passed away. Never once did he think that she killed herself. He also wonders if he’s so frightened right now because he has no words to comfort Derek. He knows what Derek is implying, why this conversation headed here. Stiles called him good enough and he’s trying to disprove it by pointing out this one horrible instance. And Stiles disagrees but he doesn’t have to words to reassure him and that scares him as he watches Derek clink his spoon, stirring what must now be a lukewarm soup.

“You couldn’t have known,” Stiles says, for the first time in his life, helpless without the right words.

“I should have though. She is—she was my sister. She needed me and I didn’t pay attention. And I’m just… how if I’m doing the same thing with Mary, Stiles? How if life here with me _is_ substandard? And I'm just not getting it.”

“You’re here right now, aren’t you? You’re paying attention.”

Derek smiles deprecatingly as he shuffles his feet, “You’re just saying that so Mary gets to stay in Beacon Hills.”

“No! Hell no. I mean, yeah but no," Stiles shakes his head to try and phrase it better. "I mean it, Derek. You’re good enough. And yeah, maybe you aren’t rich like Peter. But you’ve always given her the best of what you can and that matters more than buying her stuff. And if she needs more, you’ll… we’ll figure it out. We’ll give her more.”

Derek, for once throughout this conversation, looks up at Stiles and maintains eye contact. Stiles tries to reassure him by looking at him fixedly, but he feels too vulnerable, watching Derek watch him.

So, Stiles interrupts the moment, “It’s 2. Wanna go see her?”

Derek nods, finishing the soup quickly and washing the bowl for Stiles, in spite of Stiles’ insistence that he just leaves it in the sink.

“I got to tell her the truth,” Derek says, drying his hands on his pants.

“Now? About what? Her mum or the custody?”

“I don’t know. Everything? Maybe? But I want you there when I do.”

“One thing at a time, Derek. Let’s just focus on fixing today’s mess.”

“Okay. But can you? Be there, I mean? When I tell her about…” Derek gestures vaguely.

“I can. I will. ”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ shoulders as he says thank you earnestly. He then picks up Fred from the rug and walks away like he didn’t just make Stiles’ heart rate spike.

*****

Fred leaps out of Derek’s arms and climbs into Mary’s lap as she resolutely stares at the MacBook that Peter bought her. She doesn’t look up even as Derek sits at her feet on the bed that he bought for her. That’s why Stiles insists that Derek is good at being a father. Mary used to share the bed with Stiles when she first started staying over. But Derek got her another mattress that Stiles can place in his childhood bedroom that he no longer uses, just so Mary feels like she has a home here too. That room is all hers now, even when she’s not around. She has a bookshelf there that Stiles had invested in for her to keep some of her books and memorabilia next to the bed, like Colonel the stuffed frog. He hangs her drawings on the notice board in that room. All his lacrosse gears are locked away at the back of the closet to make room for her.

Mary absently pats at Fred while ignoring Derek’s presence.

“Mary, can we talk about earlier?” Derek asks quietly while Stiles sits in the small corner chair next to the window.

Mary sometimes sits there, reading her book of the week. She doesn’t respond. When Derek lays a hand on her ankle, she drags her foot away.

“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself. And it came out wrong. Can you forgive me, you think?”

“Sure. Whatever,” Mary replies, still not looking at him.

“That doesn’t count. It’s not forgiveness if you’re not looking me in the eye,” Derek says as he leans over to lay on his stomach next to her.

“Come on, shut the thing. Look at me,” Derek says, nudging her side.

Mary sighs dramatically and puts aside her MacBook, choosing to carry Fred instead. He crawls onto her lap without struggling. Derek mindlessly pats the cat too as he waits for her to process what she wants to say. She opens her mouth a few times and closes it. Stiles smiles a little, thinking how often he has seen Derek do the same.

“Did you mean it when you said you got no life because of me?” Mary asks hesitantly.

“That’s not what I said,” Derek replies.

“But did you mean it?”

“Well, remember last month when you asked for a piano and I said no and you told me I’m the worst uncle ever and you wish death upon me? Did you mean that?” Derek asks.

Stiles snorts, imagining her saying that. That sounds like Mary alright, when she's throwing a massive tantrum.

“No. Not entirely,” Mary answers. “Not the death part. Or the worst part.”

“See, we both say things we don’t mean sometimes,” Derek says, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear.

“I guess,” Mary replies.

“I do have a life. And I have it with you. I like it,” Derek says, turning over in bed so he’s lying on his back instead.

Mary shifts on the bed so she can place her feet on Derek’s torso as she leans against the wall. Derek wordlessly massages her feet and cracks her knuckles as she pats Fred.

Stiles once again feels this strong longing deep down. He envies their relationship, he wants to be a part of it. But he also feels like an outsider looking in at a tender moment that he isn’t welcome in.

He clears his throat awkwardly and says, “Well, all is forgiven then?”

“Yup,” Mary says, popping the P the way Stiles does. “But Derek reads the next chapter of Northern Lights.”

“Oh God, what have you been teaching my kid?” Derek says laughingly. “She wants a transaction.”

And Stiles takes a mental picture, of Mary holding Fred, her feet on Derek’s belly as he lays there, glaring playfully at Stiles. Stiles stands up then, thinking it’s best that he leaves before he does something stupidly revealing like grinning at Derek with all the fondness he can no longer bury deep down.

“Where are you going? You’re gonna miss the next chapter,” Mary says as she gets on her knees and leans over Derek’s chest to grab the book.

Stiles swallows hard and answers, “This chair hurts my butt. I’ll catch up another time.”

“What, there’s plenty of space here,” Mary answers, tilting her head to stare at him incredulously. “Der bear, scoot.”

Derek moves a little closer to the edge to make room and Stiles feels his face flushing because he didn’t think he’d actually get to have this. But Mary is adamant, she climbs easily on Derek as he adjusts the pillow against her headboard. She leans against him while opening the page where she left a bookmark.

“Let Fred sit on you,” Mary says, patting the bed.

He climbs into bed carefully, carrying Fred and making sure there’s space between him and Derek. Derek doesn’t seem to notice, he’s talking to Mary about something as she points out the paragraph he needs to read from.

“But I didn’t read the parts before. I don’t know what’s going on,” Derek grumbles.

Mary sits up and turns around as Derek grunts with the sudden movement. She starts explaining the story to him from the beginning, stopping once in a while to ask Stiles information about different characters or repeat a commentary that Stiles made the last time they read. Derek listens intently to Mary, his hand large against her small back as he steadies her in her twisted sitting position. Stiles watches as Derek places his other arm behind his head, getting comfortable as Mary speaks. Fred purrs as he snuggles in the space between Stiles and Derek. Stiles feels a warm contentment despite his heart hammering away at the sight.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, share your thoughts with me. :)


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles is a worrier. He has never not been one and has never had the strength to pretend to be unbothered. Anxiety is a part of his personality. The wellspring of his humour. So, he doesn’t accept this half-hearted reassurance from Derek. That’s the only reason he spent the whole day, rambling about Derek to Scott.

“Stiles!”

He stops in the middle of an unfinished sentence, annoyed at Scott for the interruption.

“What?!”

“If you wanna go home and maybe go see Derek tonight, you can do that. I’m not gonna hold it against you, bro.”

“What are you even—“

“You spent the entire day talking about Derek and Mary. I get that you can’t chill. So, if you wanna go, I get it.”

“Why would I—I haven’t seen you in two months, Scotty!”

“We Skype all the time, man.”

“Today is our day,” Stiles huffs. “I’m offended you would even suggest I go home.”

Scott snorts before gulping down his beer, “Oh please, Stiles. You should be grateful _I’m_ not offended, okay?”

Stiles stares at Scott for a moment and deflates, “You’re right. I’m being a shitty friend. Okay, no more talking about other people. We’ll talk about you.”

Stiles reaches over and punches Scott lightly on the shoulder.

“There’s nothing to talk about me. I update you almost every day.”

“You’re not even contributing to this conversation right now.”

“Okay, I’ll contribute. How bout-" Scott adjusts his position to face Stiles.

"You tell me when you’re planning to tell Derek about your...  _feelings_?” he drags out the last word.

“Wha—what?! What _feelings_?”

“Now you’re really offending me. I’m your best friend.”

“What the fuck are you even on about? Jesus, Scotty—“

“You’re into him. You told me that!”

“Yeah like what? Three weeks ago? Why are you bringing that up now?”

Scott looks utterly baffled.

“Because it has been three weeks and you’ve done absolutely nothing about it,” Scott scrunches up his face.

“Cause I don’t plan to do anything about it, duh,” Stiles shakes his head incredulously.

“Why not?”

Stiles just waves his hand dismissively and takes a sip of his beer, ignoring Scott.

“Stiles, come on, man. You gotta do yourself a favour here and make the bloody move.”

“Scott, which part of 'he is straight and uninterested' do you not get?”

“If you never try, you never know.”

“What bullshit inspirational crap have you been subscribing to? Don’t insult me like that. You know that’s rubbish for an advice,” Stiles says, stabbing his finger at Scott as his face flushes in anger.

“Okay, fine... But what are you so afraid of, Stiles?”

Stiles rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Just humour me for a second here. What is the worst that could happen? He doesn’t seem like the kind of asshole who’d punch you in the face for saying you like him, I don’t think.”

“Or he might just be. How would you know? You never know who’s homophobic.”

“Derek knows you’ve been with Nick though.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, it didn’t change your friendship. I don’t think he’s homophobic.”

“It didn’t _change_ our friendship, Scotty. Bingo! Jackpot! Voilà! What other expressions are there?”

“I don’t follow,” Scott squints his eyes.

“Goddamnit, Scott. He’s not interested. At all! That’s why it didn’t change anything. And I’m not gonna go tell him all about my stupid feelings -that I will get over, mind you- and make an awkward mess out of this.”

“I’m not saying that he’s gonna suddenly wake up and find himself gay for you, bro. Well, maybe. I don't know. Wasn't that-- wait, wasn't that how it worked for you and Nick?"

When Stiles rolls his eyes, Scott soldiers on, "Okay, maybe not. He's not gonna--I’m just saying, you’re not doing yourself any favours by suppressing your feelings. Give him the chance to hear about it, and let him answer what he will.”

Stiles gapes at Scott and creases his brows, affronted.

“So, you _know_ it won’t happen and you want me to get rejected?”

Scott shrugs, “I don’t want you to get rejected. But I also know you. You don’t move on until you are rejected. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Give me one good instance that that has been the case—“

“Lydia—“

“An anomaly.”

“That girl, Teri or something from the bookstore.”

“First of all, it was Tara. Second of all, I wasn’t having a hard time moving on, not at all.”

“Stiles, you let her string you along for like half a year before she got together with her ex. And then, you didn’t even wanna go on casual dates with other people for years after that. You don't even go out now!”

“Because I’ve had enough. There was the whole leaving Nick thing and then with Tara. I was just done. Nothing to do with—“

“Don’t lie to me. You knew that the girl was still into her ex when you dated her. You stayed because she didn’t outright reject you. Cause you’re a little… you get really hung up on people, man.”

“Scott, what are you— I’ve always been in control of my relationship with people. I don't wait around for them to dump me.”

“That’s what you’d like to think. I mean, you are brave. You up and leave people when they disrespect you. You got that down to a pat, bro. But it's not the same with your heart. You don’t—how do I say this? You don’t leave until they actually do disrespect you, get what I mean? You give too much to people. You just stay friends and torture yourself until you’re given a reason to move on. And if you’re not gonna try with Derek, the least you can do is tell him how you feel so if he says no, you can actually move on.”

Stiles finishes his beer in three large gulps, burps and gets himself another cold bottle. They don’t say anything for a while, opting to watch soccer on TV in companionable silence.

“Can’t do it,” Stiles admits quietly when Scott returns from paying the pizza guy.

“Can’t do what?” Scott asks as he opens the pizza box and sets it on the table.

“It’s not the same as all the other people, Scotty.”

Scott raises his eyebrow as he blows on his pizza to cool it before taking a bite. Stiles sighs.

“If I tell him and he doesn’t take it well… which is like 97% possibility that we’re talking about here, the other 3% is that he continues being friends with me for the sake of Mary… but either way, it’ll be shitty. It’s not just between me and him, you know. There’s Mary… and there’s my dad. We’re—this is as close to a family as it gets since mum. And I’m not gonna ruin that for everyone just cause I only ever stupidly fall for my friends.”

Scott wordlessly cups the back of his neck and squeezes as Stiles reaches over for a pizza slice.

“You know, if I were ever into men, I’d totally date you. You’re a catch and all that.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Stiles asks, rolling his eyes.

“I’m trying.”

“Failing, Scott. Cause that’s just creepy. Like dating my brother.”

“You know, I thought of it as soon as I said it. But it was too late. The damage is done,” Scott laughs.

 Stiles pushes his palm against Scott’s face as he laughing says, “Idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not quite written about Stiles' life outside his family. So, just wanted to give him a Scott & Stiles moment. Let me know your thoughts. :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a little long. Sorry. :/

Stiles spends his Saturday, cleaning the house and absolutely not moping. Not at all. The house is just quiet. His dad is working, same old. Mary isn’t here this weekend, no big deal. No text from Derek, because why would he? Thanks to Scott and his stupid, emotionally perceptive, intrusive self, Stiles knows that he has to deal with the fact that he has been dangerously dwelling in fantasies of being with Derek.  Damn him! Brothers don’t call each other out like that. Okay, they do, but still… He’s not moping about it.

It’s a good thing, having a day to himself, he thinks. Now he knows where he stands. Derek only talks to him when Mary is involved. He tries to think of instances when Derek and he have had a conversation that didn’t revolve around Mary. Baseball, sometimes. Work. That’s about it. They don’t speak about their personal lives that isn’t also about family. Derek only heard about Stiles’ past relationship because the Sheriff accidentally mentioned Nick while talking about keeping pets at home. And Stiles doesn’t ever hear about the women Derek brings home. Speaking of, he hasn’t brought a woman home in a while. Maybe he’s dating someone for real. Maybe he has been for a while and Stiles isn't close enough a friend for Derek to mention her.  
  
Maybe it’s all in Stiles’ head. He doesn’t really know the guy, does he? He knows him as Mary's parent, as a neighbour, a friend. He knows he’s kind and all that. But maybe their interests are wildly different and they’d run out of things to talk about had they met in a different capacity.

Stiles has to remind himself from time to time, but Scott’s not entirely right; he doesn’t need to be rejected. He is well-aware of his circumstances and he will move on all by himself, without ever needing to tell Derek about it. First, he’s going to clean the house and grade papers and prepare lesson plans and just work himself to death so he doesn’t have to think about Derek. And if exhaustion doesn't kill him first, then he'll deal with his feelings. But he's really counting on the first half of the plan and Stiles succeeded for the most part until the clock strikes 8 and he gets a call from Derek.

“Hello, Derek? Is Mary okay?” he pants out because he dashed across the living room to get his phone off the charger.

He may or may not have personalised ringtones for his dad and Derek so he can always tell when it’s important. Which is not an overreaction. His dad is in law enforcement. And Derek only calls when he needs help with Mary.

“Huh? Yeah, she’s okay, Stiles. Don’t worry.”

“Oh.”

“Hmmm…”

“Then… what’s up, Derek?”

“Dinner. I made too much lasagna. Want some?”

“Uhhh… yeah? Sure.”

“Can you come over to my place? I got Fred with me.”

“Okie dokie. Want me to bring anything?”

“No. Just your self is fine.”

“Aaaaww, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you’re sweet,” Stiles mocks.

“But you do. So, shut up and come before I change my mind.”

“That’s what she said,” Stiles laughs, knowing how irritated Derek gets with that expression.

“Stiles?”

“Derek?”

“Invitation revoked.”

Stiles laughs harder when he hears the click of Derek hanging up before he could even answer. He catches himself 15 minutes later when he notices that he had not only taken a needless shower but has been changing in and out of clothes. Something casual and cosy, but not shabby either. He hits his head against the closet a couple of times and changes into an old worn out T-shirt and cotton sweatpants. He’s going to look unkempt. That’s his resistance. He refuses to make special efforts for Derek friggin’ frowny faced Hale.

He knocks on Derek’s door at around 8.30, fashionably late, he thinks. Derek opens the door with a raised eyebrow, blocking his entrance.

“Let me in. I’ve come to be fed,” Stiles says, trying to refrain from smiling wide.

“I’m not feeding you. Go home.”

Stiles gawks in mock horror, “I dressed up for this.”

“Dressed up? I see holes,” Derek says, poking his finger through the hole on Stiles’ t-shirt near the collarbone.

“That’s what--,” Stiles chirps as Derek shuts his door on Stiles with an irritated groan.

Stiles blocks the door with his foot and finishes, “—he said.”

He pushes the door open as Derek walks away to the kitchen.

“That joke didn’t land,” Derek mutters.

“Well, half my jokes don’t. But persistence is my best quality.”

 Stiles shuts the door and follows him.

“Woah, that’s a lot of lasagna,” Stiles exclaims.

“I told you that over the phone.”

“Duuuude,” Stiles laughs. “Why though? Mary isn’t home. And that’s a lot even for the two of you.”

“I wanted to invite you and the Sheriff. But he’s obviously not home yet.”

“Yeah, working the shift,” Stiles says as he grabs the plate he has been offered. “So, how was your day?”

Derek mumbles something as he plates the food for himself but Stiles doesn’t catch it over the scraping sound of the wooden spatula.

“Huh? Speak up, big man.”

“Not good.”

Stiles' smirk drops at that. “What? Why?”

Derek shrugs. They both sit on the couch next to each other and eat as Derek flips the channel every once in a while, finding something they could both watch.

“I had a horrible day too.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at the TV and Stiles takes it as a signal to continue.

“It’s just been a lonely day. Without Mary and my dad and Scott... he just left; he’s working at the clinic tonight. I’ve been trying to fill my schedule up, cleaning the house and prepping for class and all. But it’s just—I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. You ever wonder if…?” Stiles starts but shoves food in his mouth and chews instead.

He has a thing with people being distracted or not entirely listening to him as he speaks. It’s his anxiety, he’s aware, but he can’t help it. All his life, friends and teachers alike have told him that he talks too much. When his ADHD was a lot worse, before he was taking Adderall, his sentences jumbled up and he didn’t quite have a beginning, a middle and an end to his stories. It used to annoy people.

His mum was the only one who would sit him down, listen to each unfinished strand and try to piece them together. And she’d ask him questions about it like, _I’m not sure I know what that is. Can you explain it to me, baby?_ or _So, am I getting this right? Is that what you mean?_

His dad loved him infinitely, of course. But perhaps it’s the strain of a stressful job, he never quite had the patience to hear him out. Scott tries, bless his soul. But when he doesn’t get something, he zones out. He’d either smile and nod like he got it or just stare into space as Stiles talks, which is a tell-tale sign that he isn’t paying attention. Moments like those, Stiles stops mid-sentence and pretends the story has ended.

Stiles has gotten better at talking more coherently as an adult with the help of practice and medications and just working day in, day out as a teacher. But the anxiety that he is oversharing, that nobody is really listening, sometimes resurfaces when he is faced with silence. So, when he hears nothing from Derek, he just stops halfway as he habitually does.

But Derek mutes the TV then, scooping another mouthful of lasagna and Stiles turns to look at him. Derek shifts his gaze towards him briefly with eyebrows raised questioningly and Stiles just squints at him as he swallows his food.

Derek rolls his eyes and says, “Earth to Stiles.”

“Sorry?”

“You were saying?” Derek gestures, moving his fingers in circular motion, asking him to proceed.

Stiles is so astonished that Derek was actually listening that he loses his train of thought.

“Sorry, I don’t recall,” Stiles says honestly.

Derek sighs, “You always do this. You asked if I ever wondered something. You were talking about what you did today?”

“Oh yeah, nah, nothing much. Forget it.”

Derek balances his own plate in one hand and takes away Stiles’ with the other.

“What are you doing? I’m not done,” Stiles cries out as he catches the fork, dangling over the edge.

“That’s what it feels like when you don’t finish what you're saying,” Derek says, returning the plate.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

Derek rolls his eyes again, “When have I ever not?”

“Oh really now? How bout… when I told you not to send Mary to a public school? Or like when I—“

Derek groans loudly, cutting him off, “You’re worse than Peter. He used to always make it a point to say ‘I told you so’. Every bloody time.”

Stiles places a hand against his chest and gapes, pretending to be insulted. “I don’t know Peter but I don’t like him, so how daaaaare you?”

Derek cleans off his plate with a fork and reaches over to take a bite from Stiles’.

“Hey! Rude!” Stiles calls out, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach.

“You know there’s more in the oven, so shut up and gimme some. Yours is getting cold.”

“Okay, let’s have a deal. If I tell a story, you must tell me one. Cause you’re never talking otherwise. It’s always just me.”

“Fine,” Derek says, inching closer to grab another spoonful from Stiles’ plate.

“I was just thinking today… like everything’s fine, right? My job’s fine, my dad’s healthier now, he’s eating well and he takes his meds and he quit drinking unless he’s drinking with me and all that. And I get to see Mary often. Scott and Lydia Skype a lot. So, it’s all well and good. But sometimes it gets lonely? Missing pieces and all. Sometimes I wonder if I’d get old and look back and I’d finally realise that I just settled. I just waited for something great to happen to me but it was all just a long wait. Nothing happened.”

Derek nods, scooping another mouthful of lasagna before getting up to refill his plate. He comes back with two cold beers and sits down next to Stiles, holding his plate to the side so Stiles can take his food if he wants. Stiles places his empty plate on the coffee table and digs into Derek’s instead.

“So… ?” Stiles prompts.

“I think greatness is overrated. We romanticise the extraordinary. When I grow old, if I still have what I have now, Mary and…” Derek gestures vaguely at Stiles, “everybody I have now, I’d be pretty okay with it.”

“You don’t ever get lonely?”

“I do. All the time. But I think it’s just a way of life. We’re all lonely. At varying degrees. The sooner we accept it, the better equipped we are to sit with it and let it be.”

“Oh wow, deep,” Stiles snorts as he takes a bite off of Derek’s plate.

Derek nudges his side and passes him the plate before grabbing both their beer bottles and removing the caps with a twist of his hand.

“I’m just saying… happiness comes in bursts, Stiles. It’s a reaction to moments. But if you had it all the time, you wouldn’t want it.”

“Cause it wouldn’t feel like happiness anymore.”

“Right. I’m not saying settling is good necessarily. If you want something, go out and get it. But stop putting all this pressure on yourself, waiting for great things. Ordinary things are just as good,” he hands Stiles the beer and clinks against it.

"Like this," Derek says, tilting his beer before taking a long sip.

“What do you have against… I don’t know… greatness? You’re always insisting that Mary has a normal life.”

Derek shrugs and unmutes the TV.

“Hey! Unfair! We’re talking,” Stiles places the plate on his lap and snatches the remote control from Derek, muting it again before shoving it in the cushion behind him.

“We have a deal, mister,” Stiles says.

Derek sighs. “What do you wanna know?”

“What’s this thing …about normal life that you want so badly? Is it because of Mary?”

“Partially…” Derek thinks. “No, not really.”

Stiles folds his right leg beneath him and turns to face him.

“Mary isn’t really… she’s exceptional in other people’s standards. But she’s not new to me.”

“Sorry, I don’t get it.”

“Most of my immediate family are… like her. Except my dad. And me, I guess.”

“Wait what?”

“Mary got it from her mum. Laura got it from my mum. I was not as bright, of course, but I was still considered gifted. I went to the school for the gifted. But I never bought into it. Because I saw what they did to Laura--”

Stiles says, “Whoa whoa whoa, Derek. You never said a thing. What’s the next thing out of your mouth? You’re all secretly X-Men?“

Derek raises his eyebrow, unimpressed and Stiles stops rambling and says, “Sorry, go on.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know... Wait, so, Laura and your mother and you are geniuses?”

Derek snorts, “I’m not a genius, Stiles. But my sister had arguably one of the brightest minds… Here, give me your phone.”

“Wha—“ Stiles says even as he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and unlocks it.

Derek types Laura Hale into google search, finger hovering for a moment before he clicks on the fifth link, and gives it back to Stiles.

Stiles first stares at the picture of a dark haired woman with strong jaw lines. He can see the resemblance to Derek. She was an attractive woman with a piercing gaze. Mary inherited her eyes. 

> **_A Mind for Math: Is Laura Hale the missing female variable that finally solves the Navier-Stokes Equation?  
>  _ **
> 
> _The field of mathematics has historically been dominated by men, but if 22 year-old Laura Hale has her way, she may be able to prove that women also have a mind for math by solving one of the most important math puzzles, the Navier-Stokes Equation._
> 
> _Named after French engineer/physicist Claude-Louis Navier and Irish mathematician/physicist George Gabriel Stokes, the Navier-Stokes Equation is actually a family of complex differential equations that are a result of applying Isaac Newton’s second law to fluid motion._
> 
> _“It is difficult to properly convey the complexity of this differential equation and the impact that solving it could have on our lives,” said Seymore Shankland, Professor of Applied Mathematics at Massachusetts Technology institute._
> 
> _He added, “The greatest discoveries, the ones that have improved life on this planet, have come from minds rarer than radium, and Laura Hale is one of such colossal minds of the 21st century.”_
> 
>  

He clicks back and sees the preview of the first link that Derek's finger hovered on earlier.

> **_Prodigious Young Mathematician, Laura Hale, Dies Tragically at 29._ **

 

 

He exits the browser immediately, not wanting to read anymore in front of Derek who’s staring at the soundless sitcom, spacing out.

“Derek…”

He doesn’t flinch or move, as though he had not registered Stiles’ voice but Stiles knows the man has the ability to remain eerily still when he wants to. Stiles assumes that he’s listening so he clears his throat.

“I just… I’m sorry.”

“For?” Derek asks quietly, still staring at the TV as the characters run around in a flurry of colours.

“For… everything. Your loss. The world’s loss…”

“You say sorry a lot.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve noticed it, it’s probably just a tic, so I didn’t want to say anything. But stop apologising so much. At least around me.”

“I… can try?”

“Good.”

“Am I annoying you with my inane 'sorry's?” Stiles asks.

“No. It’s just sad.”

Stiles furrows his brows, curious.

“Cause you think you’re annoying me. Cause someone must have made you feel that way before. Laura used to do that a lot. That’s why I tell Mary to apologise only when she sincerely means it.”

Stiles snorts, “Derek Hale, are you telling me that I _don’t_ annoy you? The number of times that you’ve shut your door on my face says otherwise.”

“Shut up,” Derek says, shoving him lightly.

“See… Case in point.”

“I do that only when you tell me something I don’t wanna hear. Which you do, a lot. But not because you’re annoying me, not really.”

“Do my prophetic appearances with words of wisdom scare you?” Stiles jokes.

Derek nods, jaws clenched and eyes fixed on TV.

“Wait, what?”

"You barged in here on the first day of school, threatening to kill me if anything happens to Mary, Stiles. What do you think?"

Stiles lets out a short and loud burst of laughter. He holds Derek's chin and drags his face to look at him.

“Are you for real?”

Derek leans back to escape his grip but says, “Sometimes. You're intimidating.”

“But why? Nobody’s intimidated by _me_. Stiles Stilinski, 152 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, court jester... I can't even intimidate my kids in school. Some of them are bigger than me.  _You're_ intimidating!”

“I am not."

“Oh really, Mr Perpetual Frown, Disdainful Eyebrows and Massive Biceps?” Stiles splutters.

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re just… really good. With Mary and all. And I know you disapprove of my decisions. I just can't explain them right now.”

“That’s not true, man, come on. I babysit her once a week. That is nothing compared to what you do every day... Okay I admit I don't get you sometimes, but I honestly don't judge you like that, Derek. I worry about Mary but I know you're doing your best. You're a good father.”

“She loves you a lot.”

“I love her too,” Stiles says easily.

“It’s different with me.”

“I don’t get what you’re talking about.”

“She loves me by necessity. And now with Peter in the picture…”

“Are you worried that she’ll want to stay with Peter?”

Derek shrugs.

“Derek friggin’ Hale, today is the day you talk. We have a deal. I’m gonna go get us more beer and you’re gonna tell me all about it."

Stiles walks to the kitchen to place the dishes in the sink and to get a couple more chilled bottles of beer. When Stiles returns, Derek grabs the bottles from him and twists the caps off for the both of them, like he does every time they drink as though Stiles isn’t a grown man who could open it on his own. Okay, maybe there was this one time he tried to bite it off and ended up bleeding all over his shirt and Derek pulling at his lip to check the extent of the injury. But that was once. People are allowed more chances, Stiles thinks.

“So what about Peter? Let's start there. Why is she with him right now in the first place?”

“Court order. He gets to spend time with her before the proceedings with a judge.”

“Did you consult the attorney that Lydia suggested?”

Derek nods. “Boyd. I hired him actually.”

“Oh, you didn’t mention it.”

“Yeah, he’s good.”

“I bet. Lydia wouldn’t suggest him otherwise… So, what were you saying about Peter earlier? You’re worried she’s gonna choose him?”

Derek shifts uncomfortably in his seat and takes a sip.

“She may or may not, but she’s not old enough to make that decision. The judge will decide. But he’s got a fancy house, power contacts, a wife, a dog-- he's a member of exclusive clubs and all that. A man of influence. So, it's not gonna be easy.”

“That’s not the most important for a child.”

“Right. But he can provide for her more than I can. It's just that Laura didn't-- she wouldn’t want him to have her. That much I know.”

“How do you know that?”

“He disowned Laura. He refused to see her. Didn't even visit when she gave birth. And she didn’t want him to either.”

“What? Wait… So, let me get this straight. Peter is your uncle, right? Your mother’s brother?”

“Twin.”

“Her twin brother?”

Derek nods.

“Uh, okay. And what do you mean he disowned Laura?”

“He was our legal guardian. My parents passed away when I was 10. Car accident. He cut Laura off the inheritance when she graduated from uni. And I opted out of the funds too.”

"So, how much inheritance are we talking about here?"

"Let's just say a hefty sum. My grandparents, mum's side, were rich. But my mum married my dad. She was a professor and my dad had a small business, but her family thought she was marrying beneath her. My mum didn't spend her inheritance; she kept it aside for us. And neither of us used it for anything but education. So, Peter is in control of it now. He's doing pretty well himself, investments and all."

Stiles is baffled. “I still can't believe... all these years, and we hardly even knew you. You never said a thing."

“I don’t make a habit of talking about it. Never had to before Peter suddenly showed up.”

 “Okaaaayy. So, why did he cut Laura off, if I may ask?”

“She got pregnant. It didn’t fit into his plan. He wanted her to be the mathematician to solve the Millennium Problem.”

“I’m guessing that’s the equation thingy.”

Derek nods. “There are seven problems in mathematics that are of great significance. So far, only one has been solved. And Navier-Stokes was Laura’s. She had been working on it since she was 10. And Peter was sorta obsessed about it. He wanted me to work something out too but I didn't pursue math. So, he was counting on her to accomplish what my mother didn't. He blamed my dad for it; he wanted to think my dad made my mum complacent, he destroyed her potentials or whatever. And now he thinks of me that way... Doesn’t matter," he shakes his head. "But you’ve seen Mary. She’s moved on to differential equations months ago. She’s 7 and she’s starting to work things out. So, he wants her to do it. If it's up to him, she'll be neck deep in tutors and will spend the rest of her life confined within four walls, solving bloody equations.”

“Hmmmm… Do you think she can? Solve the problem in the future, I mean?”

Derek gulps down half the bottle in one go and pushes the cushion behind Stiles to grab the remote control he hid.

“I damn well know she can. But it’s not worth it,” he says, unmuting the TV and raising the volume, effectively cutting off the conversation.

Stiles settles back against the cushion, deciding he needs to process this first. He doesn't want to force information out of Derek if the man's unwilling to discuss it further.


End file.
